Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 
&  Other  Stories 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

Other  Stories 


Julia  Magruder 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  VIOLET* 
"THE   PRINCESS  SONIA  " 


CHICAGO 

HERBERT  S.   STONE 

MDCCCXCVI 


CO. 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

When  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  came 
down  to  take  her  place  on  the  coach  for 
the  races,  in  company  with  her  cousins, 
the  Miss  Ayrs  of  New  York,  there  was 
a  discrepancy  between  the  former  and  the 
latter  which  could  scarcely  have  failed  to 
attract  attention.  It  could  not  be  denied 
that  the  advantage  was  on  the  side  of  the 
last-named  ladies,  though  Miss  Ayr  of 
Virginia  was  exquisite,  and  they  were 
plain. 

Compared  with  such  costumes  as  they 
wore,  however,  such  chic,  such  height,  such 
distinguished  bearing,  what  was  mere 
beauty?  The  little  country  girl,  with  her 
village-made  costume,  just  saved  from  ab 
solute  dowdiness  by  a  few  touches  from 
her  cousins'  maid  (which  she  had  inwardly 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

resented),  was  certainly  a  fish  out  of  water 
in  that  jaunty  party;  and  in  her  wretched 
little  soul  she  felt  it. 

Moreover,  her  dress  was  not  only 
countrified,  it  was  unbecoming.  Its  style 
of  construction  quite  disguised  her  slight 
and  charming  figure,  and  her  hat  was  as 
complete  a  handicap  for  a  beautiful  face  as 
could  well  have  been  invented. 

She  did  not  realize  this,  not  having  as 
yet  entirely  lost  her  buoyant  belief  in  her 
self,  which  was  one  result  of  her  being  an 
only  child  and  the  spoiled  darling  of  her 
father,  besides  being  the  recognized  belle 
of  her  county.  What  she  did  realize, 
however,  was  that  these  fashionable  cous 
ins  of  hers  found  her  a  nuisance,  and  that 
the  invitation  which  she  had  received  from 
their  father  would  never  have  come  from 
themselves. 

The  Miss  Ayrs  of  New  York  were 
partly  right  in  what  they  said  of  their 
cousin,  namely,  that  she  had  been  badly 
brought  up.  This  fact  might  possibly 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

have  been  overlooked  on  the  score  of  her 
having  lost  her  mother  in  childhood,  but 
for  the  other  fact,  that  the  Miss  Ayrs  of 
New  York  were  in  the  same  case,  and 
yet  felt  proudly  conscious  that  they  could 
challenge  the  world  as  to  their  unimpeach 
able  good  form.  There  was  one  import 
ant  difference  between  the  two  families, 
however.  The  Ayrs  of  New  York  were 
rich,  while  the  Ayrs  of  Virginia  were 
poor.  The  war,  which  had  caused  the 
impoverishment  of  the  latter  branch  of 
the  family  was  not  yet  so  far  back  in  the 
past  but  that  days  of  opulence  and  ease 
could  yet  be  remembered,  even  by  this 
sole  representative  in  the  present  genera 
tion,  Miss  Carter  Ayr,  who,  now  for  the 
first  time  emerged  from  the  safety  and 
seclusion  of  her  beloved  South,  was  come 
to  taste  the  delights  of  a  season  in  New 
York. 

The    two  brothers,  who   were    the  re 
spective    heads    of  the   families,  had  both 
been  left  widowers,    and    neither  of  them 
3 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

had  re-married;  but  John  Ayr  of  New 
York  had  been  able  to  give  his  daughters 
the  very  best  that  money  could  do  for 
them,  in  the  way  of  governesses  and 
chaperonage  and  foreign  travel,  while 
Henry  Ayr  of  Virginia  had  had  to  con 
tent  himself  with  the  ministrations  of  a 
gentle,  old-maid  cousin,  who  had  been 
governess  and  chaperon  in  one,  and  had 
let  Carter  grow  up  much  as  she  chose  — 
a  fact  which  had  not  in  the  least  interfered 
with  her  father's  complete  satisfaction 
with  her. 

There  were  three  Miss  Ayrs  of  New 
York,  and  they  were  all  tall,  and  imposing, 
and  perfectly  dressed.  They  were  par 
ticularly  showy  for  an  occasion  such  as 
the  present,  which  was,  perhaps,  one  reason 
why  Jim  Stafford,  the  young  bachelor  mil 
lionaire  to  whom  all  society  did  reverence, 
had  invited  all  three  of  them  to  go  out  on 
his  coach  to-day.  Jim  was  a  very  good- 
natured  fellow,  however,  and  often  did 
things  with  no  other  prompting  than  that 
4 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

quality,  and  so,  when  Mr.  Ayr,  hearing 
the  matter  discussed  over  night,  and  no 
provision  made  for  Carter,  had  insisted 
that  one  of  the  girls  should  yield  her  place 
to  her  cousin,  Jim  had  good-naturedly 
said  there  was  room  for  all,  and  Mr.  Ayr 
had  decreed  that  Carter  should  go.  He 
generally  interfered  very  little,  but  his 
daughters  knew  that  when  he  spoke  he 
meant  to  be  obeyed. 

So,  in  this  way,  it  happened  that  little 
Carter  Ayr  found  herself  in  the  midst  of 
that  fluttering,  chattering,  bantering  party, 
whose  jargon  was  wholly  unfamiliar,  and 
whose  manner  toward  herself  seemed  to 
surround  her  with  an  atmosphere  of  chill 
and  constraint. 

As  the  female  element  was  so  largely 
supplied  by  the  ladies  Ayr,  most  of  the 
strangers  whom  Carter  saw  about  her  were 
men.  She  had  never  seen  such  men  as 
these  before,  except  in  a  tailor's  picture- 
plate,  and  she  felt  rather  a  contempt  for 
them,  as  country-bred  people  are  apt  to 
5 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

feel  toward  those  who  dress  as  they  have 
neither  the  means  nor  the  knowledge  to 
dress.  Carter,  with  her  provincial  preju 
dice  against  fastidiousness  in  dress,  partic 
ularly  on  the  part  of  men,  now  got  some 
sense  of  inward  support  by  adopting  a 
supercilious  criticism  of  the  exquisitely 
cared  for  details  of  the  costumes  of  these 
men.  She  had  a  standard  in  her  little 
Southern  heart  by  which  she  liked  to  be 
lieve  that  she  measured  these  fashionable 
gentlemen  into  puniness. 

In  spite  of  all  her  loyalty  to  a  very  dif 
ferent  type,  she  could  not  help  feeling 
lonely  and  depressed,  as  she  was  assisted 
to  mount  to  her  high  seat,  while  the  grooms 
could  hardly  keep  in  check  the  impatience 
of  the  four  superbly  harnessed  horses. 
Carter,  who  knew  the  points  of  a  horse, 
thought  the  harness  rather  outdid  the 
horses  themselves,  but  what  did  her  opin 
ion  amount  to  in  this  company,  where 
she  was  so  evidently  a  supernumerary  and 
an  incubus  ? 

6 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

It  was  an  uncommonly  pretty  foot  that 
she  put  on  the  ladder  to  mount,  but  it  had 
on  a  very  bad  shoe.  Even  the  big  and 
clumsy  feet  of  her  cousins  contrasted  fa 
vorably  with  it,  for  the  reason  that  their 
shoes  were  of  shiny  patent  leather,  with 
sharply-pointed  toes,  which  made  her  little 
blunt  ones  look  somehow  stunted  and 
shabby.  But  then,  again,  she  had  reason 
to  reflect  that  no  one  was  noticing  her! 

Who  has  not  felt  a  certain  sense  of  pity 
on  festal  occasions,  for  the  friend  who  is 
brought  ?  That  person  seems,  somehow, 
surrounded  with  a  sort  of  blight  among  the 
others  who  have  come  by  a  process  of 
natural  selection. 

But  if  any  heart,  under  those  fashion 
able  habiliments,  felt  a  tender  sentiment 
for  Carter,  no  one  showed  it.  Jim  Staf 
ford,  himself,  was  wholly  occupied  with 
handling  the  reins,  as  they  drove  through 
the  crowded  streets.  The  Misses  Gladys, 
Ethel,  and  Rosamond  Ayr  were  making 
themselves  as  painstakingly  agreeable  to 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

the  men  beside  them  as  if  it  had  been 
their  business  to  divert  attention  from  all 
the  others  present,  and  the  married  woman, 
who  was  acting  as  chaperon  to  the  party, 
was  the  most  cold  and  unapproachable  of 
the  lot — or  so  Carter  had  concluded,  when 
one  of  her  cousins  had  given  her  a  casual 
introduction  to  Mrs.  Emory,  as  "  Miss 
Ayr  of  Virginia." 

Somehow,  the  intonation  with  which  it 
had  been  said  had  given  an  indefinable 
offense  to  Carter,  and  when  other  mem 
bers  of  the  party  took  it  up  and  said  : 

"Help  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  to  her 
place,"  or  "  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  comes 
next,"  or  "  Do  n't  crowd  Miss  Ayr  of 
Virginia,"  though  it  was  all  said  in  an 
amiable  way,  Carter's  sense  of  resentment 
deepened.  There  seemed  to  be  a  certain 
disrespect  to  _her  beloved  State  implied, 
and  that  was  more  than  she  could  calmly 
bear. 

It  was  a  new  and  exciting  experience 
to  her  to  be  whirled  through  the  thronged 
8 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

city  streets,  and  gazed  at  by  admiring 
crowds,  upon  whom  she  looked  down  from 
such  a  great  height  that  it  almost  made 
her  dizzy.  If  she  had  been  in  a  congenial 
atmosphere,  it  would  have  been  delightful, 
for  she  was  inherently  pleasure-loving,  and 
her  blood  was  young  and  ardent ;  but,  as 
things  were,  everything  seemed  to  add  to 
her  sense  of  loneliness  and  depression. 

The  sky  had  been  over-cast  when  they 
started  out,  but  now,  suddenly,  the  sun 
appeared,  and  with  it  came  a  little  gleam 
across  the  shadows  on  Carter's  face.  She 
had  felt  bitterly  the  fact  that  she  was  ill- 
dressed  (though,  at  home,  these  clothes 
had  seemed  to  her  good  enough  for  any 
company  in  the  world  !)  but  with  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  sunshine  she  had  remem 
bered  the  one  really  incontrovertibly  hand 
some  and  imposing  thing  which  she  pos 
sessed — an  elegant  parasol,  which  she 
had  bought  the  day  before  at  a  very  fash 
ionable  place,  and  for  a  price  which  a 
week  ago  would  have  frightened  her.  Her 
9 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

father  had  paid  over  to  her  a  little  legacy 
from  an  aunt,  and  she  had  intended  to  in 
vest  this  in  jewels  or  some  permanent 
thing,  but  she  had  heard  her  cousin  Gladys 
admire  that  parasol,  and,  needing  one,  she 
had  boldly  purchased  it. 

So,  here,  at  least,  she  could  be  confident, 
and  it  was  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  that 
she  now  unfurled  her  gorgeous  sun-shade, 
and  let  the  full  glory  of  its  laces  and  ribbons 
float  to  the  breeze. 

The  motion  that  it  made  attracted  gen 
eral  attention  to  her,  and  simultaneously 
with  this  she  heard  Gladys  say,  in  a  voice 
of  excited  protest : 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  tell  Carter  to  put 
down  that  parasol !  " 

The  word  was  then  passed  to  Ethel, 
who,  in  the  same  excited  tone,  passed  it 
to  the  man  seated  next  to  Carter. 

"  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  is  requested  to 
lower  her  parasol,"  he  said,  with  more 
amiability  in  his  manners  than  her  two 
cousins  had  used. 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

Carter,  who  had  heard  the  behest,  when 
it  had  originated  with  her  eldest  cousin, 
did  not  at  once  succumb,  but  said,  from 
under  the  flaunting  glory  of  the  pros 
cribed  article  : 

"  Why  ? " 

44  Of  course,  coming  from  Virginia  she 
did  n't  know,"  she  heard  her  cousin  say 
ing  in  a  tone  of  contemptuous  extenua 
tion,  which  she  hotly  resented. 

No  one  had  answered  her  question, 
however,  and  so  turning  to  the  woman 
who  sat  nearest  to  her — it  happened  to  be 
Mrs.  Emory — she  said  : 

"  Why  should  n't  I  raise  my  parasol,  if 
the  sun  is  out  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  done,"  was  the  answer,  given 
curtly  and  coldly,  and  Mrs.  Emory  re 
turned  at  once  to  her  talk  with  her  neigh 
bor. 

Carter,  of  course,  furled  her  offending 
sun-shade,  feeling  snubbed  and  sore.  It 
would  have  been  childish  and  rude  to  per 
sist,  but  she  was  not  only  hurt,  but  puz- 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

zled.  Being  from  the  rural  regions  she 
had  not  as  her  cousin  suggested,  any 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  it  was  not  con 
sidered  smart  to  raise  a  parasol  on  a 
coach.  This  sacred  tenet  was  so  strictly 
adhered  to,  however,  that  although  it  was 
a  warm  and  dusty  autumn  day,  the  ladies 
endured  the  heat  unmurmuringly,  staring 
with  haughty  superiority  at  the  coaches  on 
which  the  people  were  pleasantly  shaded 
by  their  parasols. 

By  the  time  the  entrance  to  the  race 
course  was  reached,  Carter  was  com 
pletely  miserable.  She  despised  the  trivial 
conventions  to  which  she  saw  such  im 
portance  attached,  and  she  had  a  sense  of 
suppressed  rage  at  being  forced  into  an  in 
ferior  position  by  people  to  whom  she  felt 
herself  superior. 

She  was  no  more  conceited  than  an 
only  child,  and  an  acknowledged  belle  and 
beauty  might  be  excused  for  being,  and  she 
did  know,  in  her  heart,  that  she  would 
have  been  incapable  of  treating  the  mean- 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

est  slave  on  her  father's  estate  as  unkindly 
as  she  felt  that  these  people  were  treating 
her. 

No  one  noticed  her  as  they  went  bowl 
ing  along  in  the  crowded  procession  of 
vehicles,  until,  near  the  entrance,  they  came 
to  a  sudden  halt,  the  carriage  in  front  of 
them  having  halted  also. 

The  footmen  sprang  down  and  went  to 
the  leaders'  heads,  while  necks  were  craned 
and  eager  questions  put  as  to  the  cause  of 
the  blockade. 

It  was  apparent  enough.  One  of  a 
pair  of  oxen,  engaged  in  some  heavy 
draught  in  connection  with  the  preparing 
of  the  track  and  grounds,  had  fallen  down, 
or  else  thrown  itself  down  in  a  fit  of  sul- 
lenness  and  could  not  be  got  to  move. 
The  animal  was  strong  and  fat,  and  looked 
more  obstinate  than  ill,  but  it  was  impos 
sible  not  to  feel  pity  for  a  creature  so 
beaten  and  belabored  and  kicked,  as  it 
was,  by  the  men  about  it.  The  thing  had 
apparently  been  going  on  for  some  time, 
13 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

and  the  men  looked  as  if  their  efforts  were 
well-nigh  exhausted. 

Various  suggestions  were  made  and  tried 
in  vain.  Many  vehicles  had  emptied  their 
passengers,  and  a  crowd  had  gathered, 
while  the  ox,  stubborn  and  defiant,  still  re 
fused  to  budge. 

The  party  on  the  coach,  from  their  high 
position,  could  see  all  that  was  happening, 
and  cries  of  distress  soon  began  to  rise 
from  them. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  "  The  creature 
hasn't  a  notion  of  moving!  "  "  We  shall 
be  kept  here  all  day  !  "  were  some  of  the 
protesting  remarks,  through  which  a  very 
sweetly  modulated  voice,  with  an  accent  so 
unlike  theirs  as  to  sound  almost  foreign, 
was  heard  to  say  : 

"  I  could  make  it  get  up,  in  half  a  min 
ute." 

"  Hear  !     Hear  !  "   cried    Jim    Stafford, 

turning     toward     the    speaker,  who    was 

flushed,  but  perfectly  composed.  "Virginia 

to   the   rescue !      Miss    Ayr    of   Virginia 

H 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

undertakes  to  raise  the  stalled  ox  !  Ten 
to  one  she  does  it  !  " 

The  bet  was  eagerly  taken  by  another 
man,  and  Carter  found  herself  the  center 
of  interest. 

"  Enter  the  field,  Miss  Ayr  of  Vir 
ginia,"  said  Jim  Stafford.  "  Only  explain 
your  method  of  procedure,  and  I  'm  your 
backer.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 
And  with  the  arrant  childishness  of  the 
average  pleasure-seeker  all  the  men  present 
became  absorbed  in  this  incident,  which 
offered  a  new  and  unexpected  diversion. 

All  the  women,  meantime,  were  looking 
at  the  young  Southern  girl  with  cold  dis 
approbation. 

"  Now,  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia,"  said 
Jim  Stafford,  "  give  your  orders.  How 
do  you  propose  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Could  we  possibly  get  some  mud  from 
anywhere?"  asked  Carter. 

"Mud  ?  not  likely,  in  this  dust!  "  said 
one  man,  but  Stafford  cut  him  short. 

"  Mud  ?      Of  course.      Nothing  simp- 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

ler  !  "  he  said.  "  Here,  Trollope,  get  a 
bottle  of  Apollinaris  out  of  the  lunch- 
basket  and  break  it  in  the  road  j  "  and  as 
the  groom  flew  to  comply  with  his  order 
he  turned  to  Carter. 

"  We'll  have  the  mud  in  a  jiffy,"  he 
said.  "  Now,  what's  to  be  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  Stop  the  ox*s  nostrils  with  it,"  Carter 
decreed  next. 

The  young  dudes  on  the  coach  gave  a 
little  "  Hooray !  "  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  down  in  the  road,  stirring  the  fizzing 
water  into  the  yellow  dust  with  their 
canes,  with  all  the  glee  of  children  at  a 
new  game. 

The  mixture  was  soon  turned  into  a 
stiff  mud,  and  the  immaculate  Trollope 
was  ordered  to  fill  his  hands  with  it  and 
follow  his  master. 

Every  eye  was  fixed  on  Jim  Stafford,  as 
he  approached  the  man  who  had  the  ox 
in  charge  and  ask  permission  to  try  his 
experiment.  Carter,  left  on  the  coach 
with  the  women,  who  she  felt,  instinct- 
16 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

ively,  were  not  the  friendly  element  of  the 
party,  watched  with  a  confidence  not  un 
mixed  with  anxiety.  How  could  she  tell 
that  these  Yankee  oxen  would  respond 
to  Virginia  treatment  ?  And  if  they  did 
not,  where  would  she  hide  her  humiliated 
head  ?  She  realized  that,  like  many 
another  act  of  daring,  its  only  justification 
would  be  in  its  success. 

"  Stop  up  both  nostrils  at  once,  and 
hold  it  in,"  she  called  to  Trollope,  in  her 
pretty,  low  voice. 

The  crowd  made  way  for  the  groom 
and  his  master  to  approach,  and  the  per 
formance  was  quickly  accomplished. 

The  next  instant,  there  was  a  heaving 
and  panting  on  the  part  of  the  ox,  and, 
with  a  frantic  motion  of  consternation,  it 
had  scrambled  to  its  feet,  and  stood  there 
snorting  out  the  mud  and  shaking  its 
great  head  from  side  to  side. 

The  man  in  charge  of  it  caught  hold  of 
its  harness,  and  without  the  least  diffi 
culty,  led  it  away. 

17 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

The  road  was  open. 

"  Three  times  three  for  Miss  Ayr  of 
Virginia  !  "  cried  Jim  Stafford,  and  his  com 
panions,  imitating  him,  waved  their  hats 
around  their  heads  and  echoed  his  words. 

It  was  not  loud  enough  to  be  positively 
rowdy,  but  it  was  too  loud,  it  seemed,  to 
suit  Mrs.  Emory's  sense  of  decorum,  for 
she  was  heard  to  say  rather  severely  : 

u  Really,  Jim,  if  you  ask  me  to  chap 
eron  your  parties,  I  must  insist  upon 
decent  behavior.  This  is  unbearable  !  " 
and  she  turned  upon  poor  little  Carter  a 
glance  that  was  meant  to  be  perfectly  an 
nihilating. 

"  Get  out,  Mamie  !  You  're  making  a 
point  about  nothing,"  her  cousin  answer 
ed,  in  an  amiable,  ofF-hand  fashion.  u  If 
you  'd  been  the  heroine  of  that  incident, 
you  'd  think  you  deserved  cheers  and 
you  'd  have  had  them.  I  'm  not  going  to 
see  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  deprived  of  the 
honor  and  glory  which  are  her  due." 

His    cousin    said   nothing,  but  her  face 
18 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

continued  to  look  both  offended  and  ag 
grieved,  and  she  turned  away  to  speak 
with  some  of  the  women  of  the  party, 
who  seemed  promptly  sympathetic. 

Carter  heard  her  name  pronounced 
several  times  among  them  in  a  tone  which 
she  did  not  like,  and  it  was  Gladys  whom 
she  distinctly  heard  saying  : 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  giving  a  girl  a 
man's  name  and  letting  her  run  wild,  as 
they  do  in  the  South." 

Carter  felt  indignant  at  the  aspersion 
cast  on  her  beloved  South,  but  the  assidu 
ities  which  she  was  at  that  moment  re 
ceiving  from  all  the  men  in  the  party 
helped  her  to  bear  it. 

It  was  not  altogether  her  victoriousness 
in  her  recent  undertaking  that  had  made 
them  rally  round  her  so.  It  had  at  last 
penetrated  their  rather  slow  minds  that 
the  women  were  exercising  a  sort  of  tacit 
ostracism  against  this  young  stranger,  and 
every  one  of  them  was  ready  with  his 
protest. 

19 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

Carter,  moreover,  had  acquired  a  bril 
liant  color,  by  reason  of  her  late  experience, 
and,  now  that  their  eyes  had  been  drawn 
to  her  directly,  they  saw  how  uncommon 
ly  pretty  she  was,  and  regarded  her  un 
fashionable  garments  with  a  commiseration 
that  had  something  akin  to  chivalry  in  it. 
She  felt  this,  and,  under  the  influence  of 
sympathy,  her  beauty  blossomed  out  like 
a  flower.  She  became  suddenly  gay  and 
at  her  ease.  The  men  were  so  absolutely 
friendly  that  the  women  no  longer  fright 
ened  her. 

When  Jim  Stafford  had  brought  his 
four  bays  triumphantly  into  place  and 
they  had  taken  their  position  by  the 
race-course,  the  grooms  took  the  horses 
away,  and  the  host  of  the  party  being 
liberated  from  his  exacting  duties  as 
whip,  was  free  to  seek  his  own  will  and 
pleasure. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  nature  and 
direction  of  that  became  manifest,  for  he 
deliberately  proposed  a  shuffling  of  seats 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

and  partners,  by  which  he  managed  to  seat 
himself  next  to  Carter. 

"  I  want  to  understand  the  philosophy 
of  that  splendid  achievement  of  yours,"  he 
said.  "Why  did  the  mud  make  the  ox  jump 
up  so  quickly  ?" 

"  Because  the  mud  stopped  its  nostrils 
and  it  could  not  breathe." 

"  But  can 't  oxen  breathe  through  their 
mouths?" 

"They  either  can't,  or  they  think  they 
can  't,  for  they  never  make  any  effort  to 
do  it.  It  was  having  its  breathing  sud 
denly  checked  that  so  startled  and  terrified 
the  creature  that  it  instinctively  sprang  to 
its  feet,  and  its  whole  mood  was  changed." 

"  And  where — if  one  may  ask  —  did  you 
become  the  possessor  of  such  a  unique  and 
valuable  piece  of  information  ? " 

(By  Jove,  she  was  pretty,  he  reflected, 
and  particularly  so  at  that  moment,  when, 
for  some  reason,  a  flood  of  lovely  rose- 
color  suffused  her  face.) 

"  A  neighbor  of  ours  told  me  about  it," 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

she  said.  "  I  am  glad  I  happened  to 
think  of  it." 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed!  But  for 
that  timely  thought  of  yours,  we  should 
probably  have  spent  the  day  there,  awaiting 
that  brute's  pleasure ! " 

He  knew  that  this  was  not  so,  but  he 
suddenly  found  himself  possessed  of  a  con 
suming  desire  to  do  homage  to  this  girl. 

And  to  tell  the  truth,  she  looked  not 
unused  to  homage.  Indeed,  she  was  far 
more  natural  and  at  her  ease,  now  that  she 
was  being  made  much  of  and  paid  court  to, 
than  she  had  been,  when  neglected  and  left 
alone.  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to 
which  of  these  conditions  was  her  accus 
tomed  element. 

When  the  racing  began,  the  general  in 
terest  centered  on  the  track,  of  course,  and 
as  the  different  horses  were  led  out,  Carter 
showed  and  expressed  such  a  knowingness 
on  the  subject  that  all  the  men  listened 
with  visible  interest  to  what  she  had  to 
say.  The  remarks  of  the  other  women 

23 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

sounded  the  merest  banalites  in  compari 
son,  for  this  little  country  maiden  knew  a 
horse  as  she  knew  a  friend. 

She  was  wildly  excited  over  the  first 
race,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  pick 
out  the  winner.  As  a  consequence, 
the  men  all  insisted  on  her  betting  on  the 
second  one,  putting  up  gloves  and  candy 
recklessly.  To  their  surprise,  their  over 
tures  were  promptly  snubbed,  the  little 
Virginian  looking  so  hurt  at  such  a  propo 
sition  that  her  big  eyes  showed  a  suspicion  of 
tears.  The  other  ladies  of  the  party, 
however,  took  up  the  bets  with  avidity, 
though  their  opportunities  were  decidedly 
more  limited. 

At  last  the  great  race  of  the  day  was 
called.  A  grey  horse  named  (Quicksilver 
was  the  hot  favorite  in  it,  and  was  to  be 
ridden  by  a  colored  jockey.  This  last  fact 
caught  Carter's  attention,  and  sent  her 
thoughts  flying  wistfully  Southward,  and 
she  was  further  interested  because  he  wore 
the  Confederate  colors  —  white  and  red. 
23 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  it  was  easy 
to  distinguish  the  silver-grey  horse,  and,  to 
her  delight,  it  came  in  first,  though  pushed 
hard  by  another  horse  named  Hautboy. 

The  second  heat  was  even  more  excit 
ing,  for  now  Quicksilver  came  tearing 
along  the  home  stretch,  neck  and  neck  with 
Hautboy. 

The  two  ran  together  superbly,  their 
jockeys  poised  like  birds  upon  their  backs, 
but  just  before  the  judges'  stand  was 
reached,  there  was  a  wild  plunging  and 
collision,  and  Hautboy  came  in  ahead. 

And  then  began  a  scene  of  frantic  ex 
citement.  The  little  mulatto  who  had 
ridden  Quicksilver  was  in  a  state  of  fury, 
bordering  upon  insanity.  He  vowed  that 
Hautboy's  jockey  had  used  some  trickery, 
and  appealed  to  the  judges,  who  refused 
to  sustain  him.  At  this  he  went  simply 
beside  himself,  and  tossing  away  his  whip, 
declared  he  would  not  ride  the  other  heat. 
Threats,  expostulations,  bribes,  oaths, 
abusive  epithets,  coaxing  cajoleries  were 
24 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

used  in  vain.  He  was  simply  maddened 
with  fury,  and  stubbornly  adhered  to  his 
refusal. 

Quicksilver,  meanwhile,  was  being 
walked  about,  switching  his  tail  viciously 
and  glaring  wickedly  to  right  and  left. 
He  was  an  evil-tempered  brute,  and  this 
young  darkey  was  the  only  rider  who 
seemed  equal  to  him.  Immense  sums 
had  been  put  up  on  the  race  and  desperate 
measures  were  resorted  to  to  bring  the  ob 
streperous  jockey  to  his  reason. 

But  it  was  all  in  vain.  He  reiterated 
his  refusal  with  excited  fury.  He  said  a 
million  dollars  would  n't  make  him  ride  the 
other  heat,  and  that  he  'd  die  first. 

All  this  time  Carter  had  been  watching 
the  scene  with  eagerness,  their  coach  being 
very  near  to  the  judges'  stand,  and  now,  as 
the  little  darkey,  bearing  her  beloved 
Southern  colors,  turned  his  defiant  face 
upward  toward  the  judges'  stand,  and  she 
saw  it  clearly  for  the  first  time,  a  suspicion, 
which  had  been  slowly  dawning  on  her, 
25 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

was  turned  into  reality — a  reality  that 
thrilled  her  through  with  excitement. 

"  He  must  do  it !  He  shall !"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone  to  Jim  Stafford.  "  Take 
me  down  there,  and  I'll  make  him  !  " 

Stafford  looked  at  her  aghast.  He  was 
excited  enough  himself,  for  the  time  was 
flying,  and,  with  a  little  more  delay,  the 
race  would  be  declared  off. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  said,  in  one  second's 
hesitation,  and  then,  remembering  the  ox, 
he  added,  "  Come  on,  then,  quickly,"  and 
in  another  instant  she  was  nimbly  de 
scending  the  ladder  and  he  was  making  a 
way  for  her  to  get  to  the  railing. 

The  party  on  the  coach  stared  protest- 
ingly,  and  Gladys  made  an  effort  to  recall 
her,  but  little  heed  paid  Carter,  as  she 
found  herself  close  up  to  the  railing, 
toward  which  the  colored  jockey  was 
even  now  advancing,  in  his  defiant  resolu 
tion  to  leave  the  field. 

A  dozen  men  were  following  him,  with 
urgent  beseechings  and  threats,  to  which 
26 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

he  turned  an  absolutely  deaf  ear,  until 
suddenly,  across  this  clamor  a  soft,  clear 
voice  said,  with  a  ring  of  command  : 

"You,  Little  Tom  ! " 

The  darkey  turned,  as  if  shot,  and 
looked  the  speaker  full  in  the  face. 

"  Get  up  on  that  horse  this  instant  !  " 
said  the  same  clear  voice,  imperiously. 
"  Bring  him  here,"  it  added,  to  the  man 
who  was  holding  Quicksilver's  bridle,  and 
as  the  restive  animal  was  brought  near,  it 
suddenly  became  apparent  that  the  human 
creature  had  been  subdued. 

The  bewildered  jockey  stared  full  at 
the  young  lady  before  him,  and  when  she 
said  : 

"  Get  up — quick,  I  say  !  You  have  n't 
a  second  to  lose." 

The  resolute  command  was  immediately 
obeyed,  and  the  red-and-white-shirted 
jockey  was  on  the  horse  and  in  his  place, 
five  seconds  only  before  the  order  to  start 
was  given. 

Only  those  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
27 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

hood  had  seen  and  heard  what  passed,  and 
even  they  were  so  preoccupied  by  the  par 
amount  excitement  of  the  moment,  that, 
in  their  eagerness  to  follow  the  horses  now 
flying  away  down  the  track,  they  forgot  to 
think  about  the  girl  who  had  saved  the 
day  by  some  occult  authority  which  she 
possessed,  .and  so  she  managed  to  slip 
through  the  crowd  almost  unobserved,  and 
to  regain  her  seat  upon  the  coach,  followed 
by  Stafford  in  a  state  of  ecstacy  over  her 
success. 

Meantime,  the  horses,  like  a  pack  of 
hounds,  were  bunched  together  on  the 
other  side  of  the  course,  but  now  the  grey 
could  be  seen  to  be  steadily  gaining,  and 
soon  the  red  and  white  colors  could  be  dis 
tinguished.  Quicksilver  was  ahead,  and 
every  instant  was  an  advance  for  him.  As 
his  slight  young  rider,  leaning  forward  with 
his  mount,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  rested 
in  delicate  poise,  the  breeze  whipping  into 
fluttering  folds  the  striped  silk  of  his  shirt, 
and  seeming  to  blow  backward,  in  its  strong 
28 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

current  even  Quicksilver's  lowered  ears, 
the  crowd  sent  up  a  wild  yell  of  enthusi 
asm,  in  which  one  alien-sounding  voice  was 
heard  exclaiming  : 

"  Good  for  you,  Little  Tom  !  " 

The  voice  was  so  low,  however,  that  no 
one  heard  it  very  plainly  except  Stafford, 
and  now,  as  the  race  ended,  with  Quick 
silver  first,  and  no  second,  he  turned  de 
lightedly  to  his  companion,  saying : 

"  Good  for  you,  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia ! 
It  was  you  who  saved  the  day,  and  now 
will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  how 
you  did  it  ?  If  ever  I  saw  a  creature  de 
termined  to  go  his  own  way  and  defy  con 
sequences,  it  was  that  angry  negro,  until 
you  spoke  to  him,  when  he  came  down 
like  a  lamb.  How  you  managed  it  —  (and 
without  even  the  aid  of  mud  ! )  —  is  what  I 
want  you  to  explain." 

"  O,  there   is    nothing  wonderful    in   it 

when  you  come  to  find  out,"  said  Carter. 

"It 's  our  Little  Tom,who  ran  off  from  home 

some  time  ago  and  his  mammy  has  been 

29 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

grieving  for  him  ever  since.  Of  course 
when  I  spoke  to  him,  he  would  not  dare 
to  disobey  me." 

"So  it  appeared,"  said  Stafford, "though 
he  did  not  scruple  to  disobey  and  defy  a 
dozen  determined  men!  I  must  say  I 
do  n't  understand  it.  And  since  he  is  a 
grown  man,  why  do  you  call  him  'Little 
Tom,'  may  I  ask?" 

"To  distinguish  him  from  the  other 
Toms  on  the  place,"  said  Carter.  "  There 
were  so  many  of  them  —  Little  Tom,  and 
Tom,  and  Uncle  Tom,  and  Old  Uncle 
Tom,  and  Old  Old  Uncle  Tom." 

This  explanation,  which  Carter  made 
so  simply,  proved  immensely  amusing  to 
the  men  of  the  party,  who  laughed  and 
enjoyed  it  sufficiently  to  hide,  in  part, 
the  lack  of  enthusiasm  which  the  ladies 
had  shown. 

Stafford  insisted  on  going  and  looking 

Little  Tom  up,  and  bringing  him  to  drink 

a    glass    of   champagne   in   honor    of   his 

triumph.      He    came,   sheepishly   enough, 

3o 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

when  he  heard  who  had  sent  for  him, 
though  he  had  borne  himself  with  a  good 
deal  of  swagger  in  the  crowd  where  Staf 
ford  found  him. 

"Howdy,  Miss  Kyarter,"  he  said,  tak 
ing  off  his  cap,  and  dangling  it  nervously 
in  his  hands,  as  he  stood  on  the  ground 
looking  up  at  her.  "I  sut'ny  is  glad  tuh 
see  yuh.  Them  white  folks  kinder  con 
fused  me  'bout  dat  race,  en  mammy  ain' 
whup  all  the  temper  out'er  me  yit !  I 
sut'ny  is  glad  you  bin  come  'long,  en  mek 
me  ride.  I  leet  more  loss  dat  money ! 
En  I  gwine  let  yuh  tek  half  of  it  home  wid 
yuh,  fuh  a  presen'  tuh  mammy." 

"  That 's  right,  Little  Tom,"  said  Car 
ter.  "  It  '11  please  mammy  mightily.  I  'm 
going  to  tell  her  about  the  race  and  what 
a  fine  horse  you  rode." 

"  Yes  'm,  he  's  right  smart  fine,  Quick 
silver  is,  but  I  don'  think  he  ekills  we  all's 
Whitefoot.  I  ain'  see  none  dese  yer 
horses  dat 's  up  to  Whitefoot  yet  !  Ef 
ole  Mars  'd  lemme  bring  Whitefoot  on 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

hyar,  en  ride  'im  at  a  race,  he  'd  beat 
'em  all,  en  dat  's  what  I  tell  'em  every 
time." 

Carter,  who  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  Little  Tom's  character  and  points  of 
view,  smiled  to  herself  at  this  compliment 
to  poor  old  Whitefoot,  whose  best  days 
were  so  far  in  the  past.  She  knew  it  was 
only  done  to  impress  strangers  with  the 
importance  of  the  people  to  whom,  in 
spite  of  his  desertion  of  them  for  scenes 
more  congenial  to  his  adventurous  spirit, 
he  was  and  would  always  remain  loyal. 

After  this  little  episode,  Carter's  timid 
ity  vanished,  and,  being  the  centre  of  at 
traction  on  the  coach  now,  she  felt  far 
more  at  her  ease,  and  she  talked  much 
and  talked  well.  But,  with  it  all,  her 
voice  was  so  low,  her  speech  so  gently 
modulated,  as  she  told  negro  anecdotes  and 
imitated  their  talk,  that  her  cousins  found 
nothing  to  say  afterward,  except  that  she 
had  made  herself  rather  conspicuous,  and 
Carter,  who  felt  that  they  would  gladly 

32 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

have  said  more,  felt  that   she  could    well 
endure  that. 

Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  had  certainly 
been  very  unfortunate  in  the  specimens  of 
New  York  women  whom  she  had  so  far 
encountered,  and,  being  very  rash  and  im 
pulsive,  she  must  be  forgiven  for  making 
the  great  mistake  of  judging  all  New  York 
women  by  these  cousins  of  hers  and  their 
associates  in  "  the  smart  set."  And  as  a  con 
vert  to  any  faith  is  always  more  zealous 
and  infatuated  than  those  who  have  been 
born  to  it,  so  the  Miss  Ayrs  of  New  York 
were  the  extreme  examples  of  this  type. 

The  little  Virginian,  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  using  her  wits,  had  discovered 
one  thing  during  that  day's  experience  at 
the  races,  which  disturbed  her  very  much. 
This  was  that  she  was  badly  dressed.  It 
stung  her  pride  at  first  to  be  compelled  to 
own  it,  but  having  done  so,  she  set  about 
the  task  of  remedying  this  defect.  She 
had  naturally  a  genial  and  affectionate 
nature,  and  her  first  step  was  to  try  to 
33 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

get  some  help  from  her  cousins.  They, 
however,  showed  so  very  little  interest  in 
the  matter  that  Carter,  v/ho  now  realized 
that  she  was  heavily  handicapped  by  her 
dresses  and  bonnets,  was  led  to  believe 
that  they  did  not  wish  to  see  this  dis 
ability  removed.  This  thought  hurt  her, 
at  first,  and  then  inspired  her  to  a  course 
of  resolute  and  independent  action. 

She  knew  that  her  father  would  be  dis 
tressed  if  she  came  home  suddenly  and 
gave  her  real  reasons  for  such  a  course; 
and,  besides,  she  could  not  travel  alone, 
and  the  time  which  her  father  had  set  to 
come  for  her  was  still  weeks  off,  so  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  stay,  and  to  provide 
herself  with  such  an  outfit  as  would  change 
the  face  of  her  staying. 

Finding  her  cousins  quite  indisposed  to 
give  her  their  aid,  she  made  a  note  of  an 
address  on  the  belt  of  one  of  their  dresses, 
and  next  morning  she  went  to  that  address 
and  held  a  conference  with  that  high  au 
thority. 

34 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

The  woman  recognized  her  as  a  pretty 
subject,  and  they  put  their  heads  together 
and  got  up  two  charming  costumes,  one 
for  street,  and  the  other  for  evening  wear. 
The  dressmaker  happened  not  to  be  very 
busy,  and  the  dresses  were  promised  in  a 
few  days'  time.  Then  Carter,  who  had 
taken  in  a  good  deal  of  the  prevailing  modes 
from  her  yesterday's  experiences,  went 
boldly,  all  by  herself,  and  bought  a  hat,  and 
gloves,  and  shoes. 

Every  moment  it  was  borne  in  on  her 
more  plainly  what  a  countrified  little  being 
she  was,  and  she  felt  that  if  she  now  got 
safely  housed  once  more,  she  would  not 
venture  out,  until  she  could  spread  her 
wings  in  her  new  plumage. 

It  was,  therefore,  a  real  regret  to  her 
when  she  presently  encountered  Jim  Staf 
ford,  immaculately  dressed  and  gloved  and 
booted,  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue  with  a 
bunch  of  fresh  violets  in  his  button-hole 
and  a  smile  on  his  good-natured  face, 
which  deepened  into  a  look  of  real  pleas- 
35 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

ure  as  he  recognized  her  and  lifted  his  tall 
hat. 

She  would  have  been  quite  content  to 
bow  and  pass  on,  but  he  turned  and  walk 
ed  with  her. 

"  What  luck  !  "  he  said,  in  his  jolly  way. 
"  Would  you  believe  that  I  was  that 
moment  thinking  of  you  ?  The  stories 
of  the  ox  and  the  jockey  are  all  over  town 
to-day,  and  everybody  is  wanting  to  see 
you.  When  will  you  go  out  on  my  coach 
again?" 

"  Not  until  I  get  some  better  clothes 
to  wear,"  said  Carter,  in  her  impulsive 
way.  "  I  never  knew,  until  yesterday, 
how  countrified  country  people  are  !  " 

"  And  who  undertook  to  enlighten  you, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ?  "  said  her  companion, 
frowning.  "  Some  spiteful  woman,  of 
course  !  There  's  nothing  the  matter  that 
I  can  see,  and  if  I  were  you  I  'd  pay  no 
attention  to  their  criticisms." 

"  You  would  n't  ?  Then  you  are 
distinctly  not  me,  for  I  'm  mending  my 
36 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

ways  with  the  utmost  rapidity.  You 
must  n't  ask  me  to  appear  again  in  public, 
until  I  can  look  like  other  people." 

"  But  that  's  exactly  what  I  do  n't  want. 
It 's  just  because  you  look — and  are — un 
like  other  people  that  I  like  you.  It 
would  be  a  perfect  shame  for  you  to  be 
changed  into  one  of  the  people  you  are 
going  to  imitate." 

"  Never  fear  that,"  said  Carter,  with  a 
sudden  seriousness.  "  We  are  utterly 
different  peoples,  I  think — the  North  and 
the  South !  I  have  never  been  in  the 
North  before,  and  I  feel  I  'm  in  a  foreign 
land. 

"  Do  n't  say  that !  I  can't  bear  to  have 
you  feeling  that  way.  What  could  one  do 
to  make  you  feel  at  home  here?  " 

"Nothing  —  I  verily  believe!  The  South 
is  in  my  veins  —  but  I  think,  in  a  way, 
kindness  makes  one  feel  at  home  every 
where — and  you  have  been  kind  to  me!" 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  her 
uncle's  house  and  she  held  out  her  hand  as 
37 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

if  to  say  good-bye.  Her  look  was  so  sweet 
and  winning  as  he  took  that  little  hand, 
awkwardly  gloved  as  it  was,  that  he  felt  an 
inward  protest  at  being  dismissed. 

"Why  may  I  not  come  in?"   he  said. 

"There's  no  one  at  home,"  she  an 
swered,  innocently,  "the  girls  were  all 
going  to  a  tea." 

"  Decidedly,  I  shall  come  in,"  he  said, 
as  he  rang  the  bell.  "  Why  did  n't  they  take 
you  to  the  tea  ?  " 

"  O,  they  said  they  thought  I  would  n't 
care  for  it,  and  they  were  right." 

When  the  servant  opened  the  door  and 
ushered  them  into  the  drawing-room,  he 
stopped  to  ask  if  he  should  serve  tea  there. 

Carter  hesitated  a  second,  but  Stafford 
said  promptly : 

"  Yes,  Thompson,  you  may.  I  am 
going  to  get  Miss  Ayr  to  give  me  a  cup." 

So  in  a  very  few  moments  Carter  found 
herself  seated  before  the  exquisitely  ap 
pointed  tea-tray,  pouring  out  a  fragrant 
cupful,  for  this  pleasant  and  friendly 
38 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

man,  who  was  evidently  enjoying  himself 
thoroughly. 

There  was  an  undeniable  sense  of  pleas 
ure  in  it.  The  room  was  so  large  and 
beautiful  and  luxurious ;  Thompson  de 
ferred  to  her  wishes  in  such  an  agreeable 
manner;  the  tea  was  so  good;  the  china 
and  silver  so  delicate;  the  man  facing  her 
was  so  soign^  in  all  the  appointments  of  his 
dress — in  short,  there  was  about  her  every 
where  the  sense  of  ease  and  luxury  which 
money  alone  brings  —  and  Carter  had  never 
cared  a  rap  for  money !  Her  wants  had 
been  so  few  and  small  that  they  had 
always  been  readily  supplied  ;  in  fact  she 
had  never  before  imagined  the  mere  ma 
terial  comfort  which  it  was  possible  to 
miss  out  of  life. 

"  Do  tell  me  something  more  about  the 
darkies,"  said  her  companion,  sipping  his 
tea  enjoyingly,  when  Thompson  had  gone, 
"I've  been  chuckling  ever  since,  over 
those  stories  you  told  us  yesterday." 

Carter  knit  her  pretty  brow  to  try  to 
39 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

think  up  something.  It  was  very  pleas 
ant  to  her  to  try  to  amuse  this  amiable 
man,  for  she  really  felt  grateful  to  him, 
and  anxious  to  please  him. 

"  O,  I  '11  tell  you  about  Uncle  Enos, 
when  he  got  religion,"  she  said,  smiling  at 
the  remembrance.  "  It  was  such  a  clever 
thing  in  him  !  Enos  was  our  white- 
washer,  and  he  had  been  notoriously  bad 
and  irreligious,  until  his  conversion.  The 
very  next  day  he  came  to  me  and  told  me 
of  it,  and  added  that,  early  that  morning, 
while  he  was  white-washing  a  fence,  a 
serious  danger  had  threatened  him  in  his 
new  life.  l  Miss  Kyarter,'  he  said,  c  I  was 
wuckin'  away  en  thinkin'  'bout  de  blessed 
change  whar  done  bin  cum  tuh  me,  en  I  look 
up  en  see  one  o'  them  miser'ble,  low-life, 
God-forsaken  niggers,  whar  I  had  done 
bin  use  tuh  keep  comp'ny  with,  a-cummin' 
down  de  road.  I  see  him  begin  tuh  laugh 
en  sner,  ez  soon  ez  he  cum  nigh  me,  en  I 
knowed  'twus  kus  I  done  jine  de  army  o' 
de  Lord.  He  stop  short  on  t'other  side  de 
4o 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

fence,  en  he  low  since  I  bindonegot  religion, 
he  s'pose  I  b'lieve  everything  de  Bible 
say  is  true  ?  I  tell  him, c  Yes,  bless  de 
Lord  ! '  'Well,'  he  say,  with  one  o'  his 
wicked,  mischeeveous  grins,  '  don't  de 
Bible  say  dat  when  de  Lord  done  finish 
all  He  wuks,  He  bin  look  at  'em  all,  en 
behol*  dey  was  all  good  ? '  l  Yes,'  I  tell 
him,  c  dem  is  de  ve'y  words  o'  de  blessed 
book.'  4  Well,'  he  say,  '  did  n'  de  Lord 
mek  de  Devil?  How  was  dat  ? '  en  he 
slaps  his  impident  fat  sides  en  busted  out 
a-laughin'  !  He  had  jiss  turn  roun'  to  go 
way,  when  I  call  him  back.  c  Hoi'  on, 
you  blasphemious  black-skinned  raskill  !  ' 
I  say,  c  you  think  yuh  dun  kotch  me,  do 
yuh  ?  But  was  n'  he  a  mighty  good 
Devil  f  '  " 

Stafford  laughed,  with  a  feeling  of 
zest  that  he  had  not  known  for  a  long 
while.  He  was  evidently  immensely 
amused  at  the  negro  characteristics,  as 
Carter  unfolded  them  to  him,  and  the  girl, 
catching  sight  of  a  guitar,  tucked  away  in 
41 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

a  corner,  ran  and  brought  it,  in  her  natural 
and  impulsive  way,  and,  with  her  head 
prettily  turned  on  one  side,  began  to 
tune  it. 

"  I  'm  going  to  sing  you  some  plantation 
hymns,"  she  said.  "Shall  I  ?  " 

As  he  responded  with  the  most  evident 
enthusiasm,  she  got  her  chords  attuned 
and  began  to  sing  to  an  indescribably 
plaintive  tune  : 

"  O,  send  down    de  angel   to   trouble  o'    de 

water, 

O,  send  down  de  angel  to  trouble  o'  de  water, 
O,  send  down  de  angel  to  trouble  o'  de  water, 
And  to  let  God's  saints  come  in." 

Her  voice  was  exquisitely  clear  and 
sweet  and  she  possessed  the  unusual  charm 
of  looking  especially  attractive  when  she 
sang.  Altogether,  the  experience  was 
new  to  Stafford,  and  very  interesting.  To 
see  that  pretty  creature,  in  her  country- 
made  gown,  with  the  hat  thrown  aside 
from  her  charming  head,  which  it  had 
roughened  into  picturesque  disorder,  sing- 
42 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

ing  that  wistful,  yearning  tune  about 
God's  saints,  with  such  an  absence  of  any 
self-consciousness,  except  that  she  was 
giving  pleasure,  was  really  a  rare  delight 
to  the  young  man  of  fashion.  His  whole 
life  was  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  he 
found  it  in  a  very  piquant  form  here. 

She  sang  next  a  hymn  beginning  "  De 
Gospel  train  am  coming  roun'  de  bend," 
and  then  passed  into  the  tripping  measure 
of  "  Who  '11  be  de  Leader,  when  de 
Bride-Groom  comes  ? "  a  catching  little 
air  with  which  he  was  enchanted. 

Altogether  he  had  not  been  so  well  en 
tertained  for  a  long  time,  and  the  next 
morning  came  a  note  asking  that  Miss 
Ayr  of  Virginia  and  one  of  her  cousins 
would  take  seats  on  his  coach  for  an  ex 
pedition  to  be  got  up  in  special  compliment 
to  the  first-named  Miss  Ayr. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  her  cousins  and,  as 

Carter  could     see,  not    a  welcome    one. 

Gladys,  being  spokesman,  said   that    she 

thought  it  best  to  mention  the  fact  that,  in 

43 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

her  conspicuous  seat  by  the  driver,  her 
costume  would  be  a  target  for  criticism. 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't  mind  that,"  said  Carter, 
lightly.  "  Mr.  Stafford  did  n't  ask  me  for 
my  clothes." 

"You  would  feel  awkward,  I  should 
think — "  began  Gladys,  but  Carter  in 
terrupted  her  : 

"  Not  a  bit,  I  assure  you  !  "  she  said. 
"  I  '11  feel  as  happy  as  possible." 

She  was  malicious  enough  to  keep  her 
secret,  and  she  even  suspected  some 
malice  on  her  cousin's  part,  in  looking 
forward  with  satisfaction  to  finding  her 
self  proved  to  be  in  the  right  when  the 
appointed  hour  should  come. 

And  when  it  did  come,  and  Miss  Ayr 
of  Virginia  stepped  forth  arrayed,  she  was 
a  charming  enough  vision  to  have  account 
ed  for  a  good  deal  of  feminine  envy  and 
uncharitableness! 

The  fit  of  her  gown  was  faultless,  and 
it  was  a  well-nigh  faultless  figure  which 
was  fitted.  The  color  was  fresh  and  pure 
44 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

and  so  were  the  tints  of  hair,  and  eyes,  and 
lips,  and  cheeks.  The  hat  was  youth 
and  grace  itself,  and  all  smaller  details 
of  her  toilet  were  beyond  criticism.  She 
was  a  clever  creature,  this  little  Miss  Ayr 
of  Virginia,  and  her  present  costume  gave 
ample  evidence  of  it. 

When  the  party  was  ready  to  set  off, 
she  was  feeling  a  wonderful  sense  of 
companionship  and  friendliness  with 
Stafford,  and  he  with  her. 

"Stunning,  by  Jove!"  he  said,  as  she 
climbed  to  her  place  beside  him.  "  It 
looks  as  if  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia  was  going 
to  beat  them  on  their  own  ground.  It's 
really  almost  too  bad  of  you  !" 

What  a  pleasant,  light-hearted,  boyish 
creature  he  was,  she  thought,  and  how  nice 
to  be  so  cordially  liked  by  him  and  to  bowl 
along  in  the  place  of  honor  at  his  side,  the 
observed  and  admired  of  all  who  passed 
them  ! 

And  not  the  least  pleasant  part  of  it  all 
was  the  sense  of  bien-etre,  which  came  from 
45 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

the  consciousness  of  her  irreproachable 
costume.  It  made  her  feel  brave  and  con 
fident  even  with  the  women  of  the  party, 
and,  this  time,  her  somewhat  timid  over 
tures  to  them  were  far  more  kindly  met. 
Gladys,  who  had  elected  to  be  the  one  of 
her  cousins  to  accompany  her,  treated  her 
rather  differently,  she  thought,  and,  alto 
gether,  it  was  a  delightful  occasion. 

"Are  you  enjoying  yourself?"  asked 
Stafford,  just  as  this  thought  was  in  her 
mind. 

"  Oh,  yes,  tremendously,"  she  said. 
"  For  the  first  time  since  I  got  here  I  am 
almost  forgetting  to  be  home-sick.  Al 
most,  but  not  quite." 

"  Home-sick?  "  he  said.  "  I  do  n't  like 
that.  Why  should  you  be  home-sick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  've  almost  died  of  it,"  said  Carter. 
"  The  other  day,  going  to  the  races,  on 
the  line  of  all  those  splendid  carriages  I 
saw,  at  the  side  of  the  road,  an  old  horse 
eating  oats  out  of  a  nose-bag,  with  a  ragged 
old  darkey  standing  by,  and  somehow  it 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

made  me  think  so  of  home  that  I  almost 
burst  into  tears." 

"  But  why  should  you  feel  so  ?  What 
is  it  that  you  miss  so  much  that  could  not 
be  supplied  here  ?  " 

"  Here  ?  Oh,  I  could  never  feel  at 
home  here  !  What  I  miss  is  simply  every 
thing — the  earth,  and  the  sky,  and  the 
trees,  and  the  darkies,  and  the  people,  and 
everything  !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  wonderful 
country.  Will  you  let  me,  some  day  ?  " 

"  Strangers  are  always  welcome  in  the 
South,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you  would  remain 
a  stranger  there.  The  life  would  never 
suit  you." 

She  felt  instinctively  that  he  did  not 
like  this,  and  —  out  of  pure  compassion 
at  having  hurt  a  person  who  had  been  so 
good  to  her  —  she  set  to  work  to  make 
herself  as  delightful  to  him  as  she  could, 
and  with  such  success  that  Gladys,  who 
was  taking  notes  from  a  back  seat, 
formed  a  conclusion,  which  definitely 

47 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

modified  her  future  course  toward  her 
cousin. 

So  marked  was  this  that  when,  at  the 
end  of  the  excursion,  Gladys  invited  their 
late  host  to  come  and  dine  informally  that 
evening,  if  he  had  no  other  engagement, 
and  when  he  had  delightedly  accepted  and 
driven  away,  she  followed  her  little  country 
cousin  to  her  room  and  offered  in  the 
pleasantest  way  to  help  her  out  with  an 
evening  toilet. 

"  I  have  one,  thank  you,"  Carter  said, 
"but  I'm  just  as  much  obliged." 

She  had  n't  it  in  her  to  bear  malice,  and 
far  enough  from  her  consciousness  was  any 
suspicion  of  the  real  reason  of  her  cousin's 
change  toward  her.  Had  she  been  pres 
ent  a  few  moments  later  at  a  conversation 
which  took  place  between  the  three  sisters 
much  light  would  have  been  thrown  upon 
this  point.  Here  Gladys  boldly  avowed  her 
belief  that  Carter  would  be  asked  to  be 
come  Mrs.  Stafford.  Never,  she  said,  had 
she  seen  Jim  treat  any  girl  as  he  treated 
48 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

Carter,  and  without  the  necessity  of  much 
talk  about  it,  the  sisters  were  unanimously 
agreed  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
have  Jim  Stafford  in  the  family  on  any 
terms.  It  was  only  too  evident  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  this  on  terms  more  close 
and  acceptable  than  the  present  ones,  for 
bis  attitude  toward  the  Miss  Ayrs  of  New 
York  had  been  strictly  limited  to  the  off 
hand  intercourse  of  old  friends  and  neigh 
bors.  And  Carter,  in  her  guileless  heart, 
would  never  have  imagined  a  further  rea 
son  yet.  This  existed  in  the  fact  that  Jim 
Stafford  had  been  so  ardently  angled  for 
by  so  many  of  their  friends  that  it  would 
be  a  triumph,  in  a  way,  to  the  Ayr  girls  to 
have  him  even  for  a  cousin.  Their  thoughts 
had  gone  even  farther  than  that,  and  they 
looked  forward  to  being  on  cousinly  terms 
in  the  establishment  over  which  Jim  Staf 
ford's  wife  would  preside  in  New  York. 

So  when  Carter   came  down  to   dinner 
that  evening,  innocent   as  a  lamb  of  any 
such   designs  and  imaginings  as  occupied 
49 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

the  worldly  hearts  about  her,  she  was  re 
ceived  with  great  friendliness  by  her  cousins, 
and  her  gown  was  pronounced  "  as  smart 
as  possible  "  by  Gladys,  "  very  chic  "  by 
Ethel,  and  to  have  "quite  a  cachet"  by 
Rosamond. 

And  indeed  it  was  a  charming  thing, 
and  she  was  a  charming  thing  in  it !  No 
one  could  have  dreamed  of  such  a  neck 
and  such  arms,  under  their  former  un- 
beautiful  coverings,  and  the  clear  cool 
green  of  her  cre"pey  draperies  brought  out 
the  pure  tints  of  skin  and  hair  and  eyes. 

Jim  Stafford,  when  he  came,  looked  at 
her  quite  adoringly,  and  nobody  could 
wonder  !  One  or  two  others  of  the  bach 
elor  habituds  of  the  house  had  been  bidden 
to  the  impromptu  dinner  and  Carter  drew 
all  eyes  upon  herself,  with  as  little  voli 
tion  and  consciousness  as  a  magnet. 

After  dinner,  Stafford  got  hold  of  the 
guitar  and  beguiled  her  into  the  library, 
and  she  sang  to  him  about  God's  saints 
and  the  gospel  train  and  the  Bridegroom, 

50 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

until  every  other  member  of  the  party  fol 
lowed  and  gathered  around  her. 

This  was  more  agreeable  to  Carter, 
perhaps,  than  to  her  companion,  for  he 
found  any  further  tcte-a-tcte  with  her  im 
possible,  and,  to  make  up  for  it,  he  asked 
her,  on  leaving,  if  he  could  see  her  to 
morrow  at  some  appointed  hour.  She 
said  yes,  certainly,  and  fixed  the  time. 
Gladys,  who  happened  to  be  standing  not 
far  off,  heard  this. 

When  Carter  went  to  her  room  that 
night,  she  looked  long,  and  with  great 
satisfaction  at  the  image  which  the  cheval 
glass  reflected.  She  knew  that  she  was 
pretty,  but,  indeed,  she  had  never  dreamed 
that  she  could  look  so  charming  as  this. 
Money  was  a  wonderful  thing,  and  she 
would  not  be  able  in  the  future  to  wear 
such  clothes  as  these,  and  she  did  like 
them  !  She  liked  admiration,  too,  and  to 
night  she  had  had  it  unstintedly.  Whence 
was  it,  then,  that  came  this  sense  of  lack, 
of  wanting,  of  imperfectness  ?  She  felt 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

it,  to  a  degree  that  positively  oppressed 
her,  and  as  she  doffed  her  brave  attire  and 
made  herself  ready  for  bed  she  could 
scarcely  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes. 
Two,  at  least,  refused  to  be  suppressed 
and  lay  wet  upon  her  cheek  as  she  finally 
fell  asleep. 

Next  morning,  when  she  joined  her 
three  cousins  in  their  upstairs  sitting-room, 
a  very  smiling  welcome  greeted  her. 

"We  were  just  talking  of  you,  Carter," 
Gladys  said,  "  and  of  how  well  you  looked 
last  night.  Jim  Stafford  thought  so,  evi 
dently  !  And,  by-the-way,  we  were  won 
dering  how  much  you  really  know  about 
Jim  Stafford." 

"  I  do  n't  know  a  great  deal,"  Carter  an 
swered.  "  Very  little,  in  fact,  except  that 
he  is  very  kind  and  nice ;  and  also,  as  I 
hear,  very  rich." 

"  Do  you  know  how  rich  ?  "  said  Gladys, 
with  solemnity. 

"  No  !   How   should    I  ?  "   said    Carter, 
looking  rather  wondering. 
52 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

"  I  do  n't  know  myself,"  said  Gladys, 
"  but  it 's  a  great  many  millions  in  money  ; 
besides  a  superb  house,  horses,  carriages, 
pictures,  and  all  sorts  of  things." 

"And  a  house  at  Newport,"  put  in  Ethel, 
"  a  simply  magnificent  place  !  " 

"And  a  yacht  that  is  absolute  perfec 
tion  !  "  said  Rosamond. 

"And  a  collection  of  pearls  of  all  colors, 
set  in  bracelets,  necklaces  and  rings,  which 
he  has  been  collecting  for  years  as  a  wed 
ding  present  for  his  wife,"  said  Gladys 
with  grave  ardor. 

Indeed,  the  solemnity  of  all  these  an 
nouncements  seemed  to  Carter  so  funny 
that  she  said  with  a  little  laugh  : 

"  What  are  you  all  so  serious  about  ? 
There  does  not  seem  to  me  anything  pro 
foundly  solemn  in  all  this." 

"  The  subject  of  Jim  Stafford  is  more 
serious  than  you  realize,  perhaps,"  said 
Gladys.  "  I  think  it  best  to  tell  you  that 
we  all  think  that  he  is  going  to  make  you 
an  offer  of  marriage." 

53 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

Carter  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
with  genuine  surprise. 

"  I  do  n't  believe  it,"  she  said,  and  the 
next  minute  a  crimson  flush  suffused  her 
face,  and  she  added  in  a  tone  of  indigna 
tion,  "  If  there  is  the  least  chance  of  such 
a  thing  it  must  be  prevented." 

"  Prevented  ! "  said  three  voices  at  once 
in  different  tones  of  surprise  and  protest. 

41  Yes — prevented,"  Carter  said.  "I 
like  him  too  much  to  want  to  hurt  his 
feelings,  and  if  what  you  say  is  so,  he 
must  be  stopped  before  he  goes  farther." 

"  Carter  Ayr,"  said  Gladys,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  thoroughly  provoked,  "I'd  like  to 
know  what  you  are  thinking  of  and  what 
you  expect  !  You  Southern  people  do 
act  as  if  you  owned  the  earth  !  What 
prospects  in  life  have  you  got  to  make 
you  throw  away  such  a  chance  as  this — 
the  most  brilliant  marriage  that  any  girl 
here  could  hope  to  make  !  If  Jim  Staf 
ford  asks  you  to  marry  him — as  I  believe 


54 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

he  will — I  '11  not  believe  it  that  you  '11  be 
such  an  idiot  as  to  refuse  him." 

Carter  rose  to  her  feet,  and  flashed  upon 
her  a  pair  of  angry  eyes. 

"  Why  should  I  not  refuse  him  ? "  she 
said.  "  There  is  but  one  cause  for  mar 
riage,  and  that  does  not  here  exist.  Do 
you,  for  an  instant,  suppose  that  I,  my 
father's  daughter,  one  of  the  Ayrs  of 
Virginia,  would  marry  a  man  for  his  mil 
lions,  and  his  houses,  and  his  yachts,  and  his 
pearls?" 

She  hit  these  several  objects  off,  with  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  turn  them  into  chips, 
and  blocks,  and  sawdust,  and  shavings, 
and  then,  with  a  sudden  softening  of  all 
her  face,  a  sudden  lowering  of  her 
voice  and  another  blush,  she  said,  as  she 
sank  back  into  her  seat : 

"  Besides — to  settle  the  matter  at  once 
— I  am  engaged." 

"  Engaged  !  "  said  her  cousins  together, 
and  Gladys  added : 


55 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

"  To  whom,  pray  ?  Some  neighbor  in 
Virginia?" 

Then,  once  more,  Carter  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and  stood  there  palpitating,  as  she 
said: 

"Yes  —  to  a  neighbor  in  Virginia!  — 
a  man  whose  only  earthly  possession  is  a 
small  farm,  which  is  all  that  is  left  of  a 
great  estate.  But  he  is  a  man,  and  not  a 
dude — and  he  works,  instead  of  playing, 
and  has  paid  off  thousands  of  dollars  of 
debts  which  he  did  not  make,  working  day 
and  night  for  the  money,  which,  after  all, 
is  less  than  you  are  accustomed  to  see 
thrown  away  at  a  day's  racing  !  He  is 
not  fashionable,  and  you  would  scorn  his 
looks  and  his  dress,  too,  as  you  did  mine, 
if  he  were  to  come  among  you  —  but  he  is 
handsomer  and  stronger  than  any  man  I  've 
seen  here — and  dearer  and  better  than  any 
man  in  all  the  world  !  Do  you  think  I  'd 
give  up  such  a  man  as  that  for  money?" 
(accentuated  as  if  it  had  been  flirt/") 
"  You  do  n't  know  him,  you  do  n't  know 
56 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

me,  you  do  n't  know  Virginia  if  you  can 
think  that !  I  like  Mr.  Stafford,  and  I 
hope  you  are  wrong  in  what  you  think;  but 
if  not,  I  believe  he  would  understand  me, 
whether  you  do  or  not." 

"  Carter,"  said  her  cousin,  insistently, 
"are  you  going  to  be  fool  enough  to 
throw  away  such  a  chance  as  this,  for  the 
sake  of  a  mere  school-girl's  sentiment  ? 
You  can't  play  fast  and  loose,  after  your 
Southern  fashion,  with  a  man  like  Jim 
Stafford.  If  you  throw  him  aside  to-day, 
you  can 't  count  on  getting  him  back." 

Carter's  eyes  were  fairly  blazing.  She 
moved  toward  the  door,  but  before  she 
passed  it,  she  turned,  and  said  proudly : 

"  What  I  have  to  say  to  Mr.  Stafford  is 
my  own  affair  and  his.  You  would  not 
understand,  but  he,  I  think,  would." 

What  she  said  to  him  was  simply  this 
(and  he  gave  her  occasion  to  say  it,  two 
minutes  after  she  came  down  to  see  him, 
dressed  in  one  of  her  homely  little  Vir 
ginia  gowns) : 

57 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

"  Do  n't  say  any  more,  Mr.  Stafford, 
please.  You  have  been  so  good  to  me, 
and  I  like  you  so  much  that  I  can't  bear 
to  make  you  sorry,  but  I  'm  engaged  to 
be  married  to  a  man  in  Virginia,  whom  I 
love  with  all  my  heart,  and  so  that  settles 
it." 

It  settled  it  simply  and  at  once  for  the 
poor  young  fellow,  but  he  took  it  hard. 
New  York  saw  him  no  more  that  season, 
and  when  Carter  was  married  in  the 
spring  his  magnificent  collection  of  pearls 
was  sent  to  Virginia  with  a  note  which 
implored  her  to  take  them  as  a  wedding 
present,  and  said  that  unless  she  consented 
to  wear  them,  no  other  woman  ever  should. 

He  believed  it,  poor  fellow,  but  Carter 
did  n't.  That  was  the  only  thing  that 
comforted  her  as  she  stood,  with  her 
lover's  arm  around  her  waist,  turning  over 
the  splendid  jewels. 

a  Of  Course  they  must  go  back,"  she 
said,  "  but  not  just  yet.  I  can't  bear  to 
hurt  him." 

58 


Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia 

"  Poor,  poor  fellow  !  "  was  her  com 
panion's  response,  spoken  in  tones  of 
heart-felt  commiseration,  "  what  a  beggar 
he  is,  with  all  his  millions,  and  how  crim 
inally  rich  I  feel !  " 


59 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

During  the  months  of  summer  Belton 
was  usually  crowded  with  city  guests,  but 
the  last  of  these  departed,  as  a  rule,  with 
the  falling  leaves,  and  by  the  time  winter 
had  set  in  the  little  town  had  relapsed 
into  its  normal  monotony. 

One  year,  however,  there  was  an  excep 
tion,  and  Mrs.  Bryan,  who  had  pleasant 
accommodations  in  her  large,  old-fash 
ioned  house,  received,  for  a  stay  under 
stood  to  be  indefinite,  a  city  boarder,  who 
arrived  in  midwinter,  and  took  two  of  her 
best  rooms  at  the  highest  summer  rates. 

This    lady   was  duly   indorsed   and  re 
commended —  as    Mrs.    Bryan's  boarders 
were  required  to  be  —  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  coming  with  the  avowed  pur- 
63 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

pose  of  getting   a  divorce   from   her  hus 
band. 

The  new  arrival — Mrs.  Leith — proved 
to  be  young  and  exceedingly  pretty.  All 
her  simple,  dark  costumes  were  made  in 
the  highest  fashion,  and  had  the  names  of 
the  best  French  dressmakers  on  their 
linings.  She  was  an  extremely  small 
woman,  exquisitely  made,  and  with  mi 
nutely  perfect  hands  and  feet.  She  had  with 
her  an  immense  Angora  cat,  and  an  old 
negro  servant-woman,  who  had  been  her 
nurse.  Her  companions  are  mentioned 
in  the  order  of  their  estimation  in  Mrs. 
Leith's  regard.  The  great,  white,  sleepy, 
selfish,  unresponsive  cat  was  her  very 
idol;  and  the  old  negress,  who  loved  and 
watched  over  and  toiled  and  suffered  for 
her,  was  taken  little  account  of,  and  even, 
at  times,  made  the  object  of  unreasonable 
and  unjust  irritation.  But  "Mauma,"  as 
her  mistress  called  her,  cared  nothing 
whatever  for  that.  The  days  of  slavery 
were  over,  but  she  was  held  by  chains 
64 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

O 

more  binding  and  restrictive  than  any  that 
they  could  forge  or  break. 

This  old  woman  had  an  immense  power 
of  reserve,  and  her  lips  were  sealed  as  to 
any  revelations  concerning  the  past  life 
of  her  young  mistress.  Mrs.  Bryan,  how 
ever,  made  a  few  notes  from  her  own 
observation.  She  noticed,  for  instance, 
that  Mrs.  Leith  always  looked  forward  to 
the  coming  of  the  mail  with  an  eager  in 
terest,  and  that,  no  matter  what  letters 
were  received,  the  expression  of  her  face 
was  always  the  same  —  disappointment. 
She  wrote  few  letters,  herself,  and  seemed 
to  take  little  interest  in  those  that  she  got. 
Mrs.  Bryan  came  to  know,  moreover,  that 
on  the  not  infrequent  occasions  when  Mrs. 
Leith  would  excuse  herself  from  coming  to 
meals,  the  cause  was  generally  a  fit  of  cry 
ing  which,  no  doubt,  gave  rise  to  the  head 
ache  which  Mauma  would  name  as  her 
excuse.  Once  or  twice,  when  Mrs.  Bryan 
had  accidentally  got  a  glimpse  of  the  inner 
room,  where  she  had  gone  to  make  in- 
65 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

quiries,  she  had  seen  the  same  picture  — 
the  old  negress  in  a  big  rocking-chair  be 
fore  the  fire,  in  her  arms  her  young 
mistress,  dressed  in  a  little  silk  dressing- 
gown  that  looked  like  a  baby's  long  frock. 
Mauma  was  rocking  her  backward  and 
forward,  patting  and  soothing  her,  while 
the  poor  little  creature  clung  around 
her  neck  and  sobbed. 

The  one  real  interest  in  Mrs.  Leith's 
life  was  Fleecy,  the  Angora  cat ;  and 
when,  at  rare  intervals,  she  chose  to  show 
off  her  accomplishments,  and  catch  the 
rubber  ball  her  mistress  rolled  on  the  floor 
and  bring  it  to  her,  Mrs.  Leith  would 
grow  gay,  and  laugh  until  her  cheeks 
were  flushed  with  a  rosy  and  becoming 
color.  Mrs.  Bryan  had  sometimes  watched 
this  game,  when  she  would  go  up  with 
her  knitting  to  Mrs.  Leith's  sitting-room. 

She  had  assisted  also  at  another  pastime 
of  Fleecy's,  which  was  more  to  the  cat's 
fancy,  but  much  less  to  that  of  its  mis 
tress. 

66 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

Mrs.  Leith  had  a  standing  offer  among 
the  servants  for  live  mice,  which  it 
afforded  Fleecy  the  highest  ecstasy  to 
catch.  Always,  when  the  poor  little  cap 
tives  would  be  brought  (and  fortunately 
they  seemed  hard  to  secure,  and  were  not 
numerous),  there  would  be  a  sharp  conflict 
in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Leith. 

"Oh,  I  hate  to  see  them  frightened  and 
tortured  so !  "  she  would  say ;  "  but  nothing 
in  the  world  gives  Fleecy  such  delight, 
and  they  do  n't  suffer  long.  Still,  I  wish 
Fleecy  liked  the  dead  ones  as  well." 

She  would  take  her  darling  in  her  arms, 
and  say  :  "  Mouse,  Fleecy,  mouse  !  "  and 
there  was  no  sort  of  doubt  that  the  cat 
understood.  She  would  prick  up  her  ears 
and  great  plumy  tail,  and  quiver  with  de 
lighted  anticipation.  Then,  when  the 
trap  was  opened  and  the  mouse  let  loose, 
Mrs.  Leith  would  clap  her  hands  with 
delight  to  see  the  joy  and  activity  of  her 
great,  indolent  pet  as  she  would  scamper 
about,  over  chairs  and  under  tables,  wildly 
67 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

pursuing  her  prey.  Invariably,  however, 
when  the  final  moment  came,  and  the 
piteous  little  dying  squeaks  would  be 
heard,  Mrs.  Leith  would  turn  away  and 
shut  her  eyes  tight,  and  put  her  fingers  in 
her  ears.  Sometimes,  when  Fleecy  had 
finished  her  meal,  and  sat  licking  her 
lips,  and  drowsing  in  complacent  reple 
tion  by  the  fire,  Mrs.  Leith  would  give 
way  to  reproaches  of  both  her  pet  and 
herself,  and  would  think  of  the  sufferings 
of  the  poor  little  victim,  till  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes.  In  spite  of  that,  however, 
when  another  mouse  was  offered,  the 
same  scene  was  invariably  re-enacted. 

She  loved  this  cat  with  a  passionate 
affection;  more,  indeed,  than  that  bestowed 
by  many  mothers  on  their  children.  She 
spent  hours  in  combing  and  brushing  its 
long  fur  and  tying  on  various  ribbons, 
and  she  often  kissed  and  squeezed  it  so 
ardently  as  to  get  scratched  in  return 
for  her  tenderness.  She  called  it  by  a 
hundred  tender  names  when  this  would 
68 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

happen,  and  blamed  herself  for  her  rough 
ness. 

There  were  certain  little  oddities  in 
Mrs.  Leith's  behavior,  now  and  then, 
which  Mrs.  Bryan  was  quick  to  observe. 
For  instance,  one  day,  when  some  one 
remarked  that  Mr.  Manning,  the  lawyer 
who  was  conducting  her  divorce  case,  was 
a  very  handsome  man,  Mrs.  Leith  smiled 
to  herself,  in  a  confident,  abstracted  way 
that  piqued  curiosity ;  and  again,  when 
another  man  was  commended  for  having 
very  delightful  manners,  Mrs.  Leith  said 
with  the  same  look  on  her  face  : 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so,  really  ?  " 

Even  Mrs.  Bryan,  who  was  not  very 
imaginative,  got  the  idea  that  the  little 
creature  had  some  standard  in  her  mind, 
measured  by  which  she  found  these  men 
very  small. 

Mrs.  Leith  spent  almost  her  entire  time 
in  her  own  room,  sometimes  singing  to 
herself,  to  a  guitar  accompaniment,  im 
passioned  love  songs  that  made  her 
69 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

tremble  from  head  to  foot  with  emotion, 
and  often  break  into  uncontrollable  weep 
ing.  When  she  was  in  her  not  infrequent 
fits  of  despondency,  even  Fleecy  was  no 
comfort  to  her,  and  she  would  sometimes 
complain  that  she  slept  so  contentedly  on 
the  rug. 

"  She  does  n't  love  me.  She  only 
wants  to  eat  and  sleep  and  be  comfort 
able,"  she  said  one  day,  in  an  outburst  of 
despair.  "  Oh,  nobody  loves  me,  nobody 
loves  me !  If  God  would  only  let  me 
die  !  " 

"  Mauma  loves  you,  honey,"  the  old 
woman  answered.  "  God  ain'  gwine  tek 
you  'way  from  po'  ole  Mauma." 

"  What 's  the  use  of  your  loving  me, 
when  you  do  n't  love  Bertie  ?  You  hate 
him,  and  you  hate  Fleecy,  too — you  know 
you  do  !  I  do  n't  want  anybody  to  love 
me,  if  they  do  n't  love  them.  Oh,  I  'm  so 
wretched ! "  and  she  went  offinto  low  wails 
of  anguish  that  subsided,  as  usual,  in 
sleep. 

70 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

Many  a  time  would  old  Mauma  sit  and 
hold  her  so,  until  her  arms  and  shoulders 
ached.  Small  and  childish  as  she  was,  she 
was  much  heavier  than  a  child,  but  she  had 
no  more  than  a  child's  consideration  for  the 
trouble  she  gave,  and  Mauma  would  no 
more  have  reproached  her  with  this  than 
a  mother  her  baby. 

Mrs.  Bryan,  out  of  sheer  pity,  began  to 
feel  herself  growing  attached  to  her  board 
er.  She  seemed  to  make,  however,  but 
little  progress  in  her  acquaintance,  and 
things  remained  just  as  they  had  begun, 
until  there  came  a  break  in  the  monotony 
of  their  intercourse,  caused  by  the  sudden 
illness  of  Fleecy. 

Mrs.  Leith  flew  wildly  downstairs,  one 
morning,  her  face  pallid  with  fear,  and 
dragged  the  astonished  widow  up  the  stairs, 
exclaiming  that  Fleecy  was  dying.  When 
they  got  into  the  room,  the  big  white  cat 
was  lying  on  the  lounge,  stretching  and 
jerking  its  body,  and  giving  every  indica 
tion  of  the  vulgar  malady  of  fits.  Mauma 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

was  bending  over  the  lounge,  but  her  lit 
tle  mistress  flew  at  her  and  pulled  her 
away. 

"  You  shan't  touch  her,"  she  cried, 
angrily,  "go  away!  You  have  always 
hated  her,  and  you  '11  be  glad  if  she  dies  ! 
Oh,  Mrs.  Bryan,  you  will  help  me  !  Do 
you  think  she  is  going  to  die  ?  Oh, 
Fleecy,  Fleecy,  my  poor  baby,  do  n't  go 
and  leave  me  !  You  are  all  I  've  got  in 
the  world." 

The  old  negress  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  moved  away.  It  was  evident  that  the 
reproaches  of  her  mistress  amounted  to 
nothing  with  her.  Mrs.  Bryan,  out  of 
pity  for  the  poor  child's  grief,  went  to 
work  to  try  to  render  aid,  and,  after  a 
little  doctoring,  Fleecy  showed  signs  of 
recovery.  The  gratitude  showered  upon 
Mrs.  Bryan  was  touching  to  see.  Mrs. 
Leith,  usually  so  cold  and  abstracted  in 
her  manner,  became  suddenly  affectionate 
and  effusive.  She  kissed  Mrs.  Bryan's 
hands  and  then  her  face,  and  begged  her 
72 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

not  to  leave  her.  When  she  was  entirely 
reassured  about  Fleecy,  and  had  her  darling 
sleeping  on  her  lap,  she  suddenly  caught 
hold  of  Mrs.  Bryan's  hand  and  said,  im 
pulsively  : 

"You  are  good  and  kind.  You  have 
a  tender,  loving  heart.  I  'd  like  to  talk  to 
you,  and  tell  you  about  my  troubles.  May 
I  ?  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  unhappy  I  am, 
and  how  no  one  understands  and  sym 
pathizes  with  me  ! " 

Mrs.  Bryan  moved  closer  to  her,  and 
begged  her  to  speak,  assuring  her,  before 
hand,  of  the  sympathy  which  showed 
plainly  in  her  face. 

Then,  still  holding  the  big  cat  on  her 
lap,  and  touching  it  with  tenderness  from 
time  to  time,  Mrs.  Leith  told  her  story. 

A  singular  one  it  was,  and  Mrs.  Bryan, 
as  she  listened,  could  not  altogether  won 
der  at  the  friends  who  had  refused  to 
sympathize  with  Mrs.  Leith  in  her  posi 
tion. 

The  unhappy  young  wife,  who  was  in 
73 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

Belton  for  the  sole  purpose  of  getting  a 
divorce  from  her  husband,  began  her  nar 
ration  by  describing  him  in  terms  of 
glowing  enthusiasm,  as  the  handsomest, 
the  cleverest,  the  most  charming,  gifted, 
lovable  being  that  mind  could  conceive. 
"  You  think  Mr.  Manning  is  handsome," 
she  said,  "  and  you  thought  that  other 
man's  manners  were  charming  !  If  you 
could  see  Bertie  !  It  makes  me  cross  to 
hear  Mr.  Manning  and  those  other  people 
talked  about.  Why,  Bertie  is  like  what 
you  would  imagine  a  great  big  angel  to 
be,  if  it  had  n't  any  wings  and  wore 
clothes.  He  's  so  tall  and  strong  that  he 
can  lift  me  about  like  a  baby,  and  never 
get  tired  in  his  shoulders,  as  Mauma  does 
after  the  least  little  while.  He 's  got  a 
figure  more  beautiful  than  any  statue  that 
was  ever  made,  and  hair  that  curls  in  little 
shiny  rings  the  moment  he  lets  it  get  long 
enough.  Oh,  once,  in  Italy,"  she  broke 
off,  as  a  sudden  memory  came  to  her,  "  I 
persuaded  him  to  let  it  grow.  We  were 
74 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

in  the  country,  where  no  one  knew  us,  and 
it  came  down  all  about  his  neck.  It  was 
so  funny.  We  used  to  row  a  great  deal, 
and,  though  he  wore  a  big  peasant's  hat, 
he  got  brown  as  a  berry,  but  his  neck  was 
always  fair,  where  his  hair  hung  over 
it.  I  used  to  say  it  was  the  only  place 
left  for  me  to  kiss,  because  the  sun  had 
made  him  brown  as  an  Italian,  so  I 
would  n't  kiss  him,  except  there.  I 
always  said  I  felt  as  if  I  were  kissing 
some  Italian  woman's  husband.  O  Mrs. 
Bryan,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice  of 
pain,  "  we  were  so  happy  then !  He 
loved  me  so  !  He  never  got  tired  of  me, 
and  could  n't  bear  me  out  of  his  sight.  I 
do  n't  see  why  I  did  n't  die  then.  If  joy 
could  kill,  I  would  have."  She  paused  a 
second,  and  then  went  on,  with  a  return 
to  her  former  tone  :  "  You  would  have 
to  see  him  before  you  could  understand  how 
poor  all  other  men  seem  after  him.  His 
voice  is  like  a  great  strong  lark's,  that  can 
sing  and  fly  together.  He  used  to  sing 
75 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

seen  me  a  year  ago  you  would  not  say 
that.  Look  at  my  poor  thin  arms,"  pull 
ing  up  her  sleeve.  "  They  used  to  be  so 
plump  and  round  that  Bertie  never  tired 
of  kissing  and  praising  them.  And  look 
at  my  face,  so  white  and  pasty,  when  I 
used  to  have  a  color  like  a  rose  !  Oh, 
I  'm  glad  he  can  't  see  me  now  !  I  'm 
glad  he  does  n't  know  how  I  have 
changed  !  " 

"  Then  why  do  you  get  the  divorce  ?  " 
Mrs.  Bryan  could  n't  help  saying.  "  You 
are  doing  it,  and  not  he  —  aren't  you? 
What  makes  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  wants  it,"  she  answered 
with  a  look  of  defiance.  She  expected 
nothing  else  but  that  Mrs.  Bryan  would 
hold  with  all  her  other  friends,  and  she 
wanted  to  show  her,  at  once,  that  she  did 
not  care. 

"  And  why  does  he  want  it  ?  " 

"Because  he  is  tired  of  me  —  simply 
that.  No  one  but  me  can  make  allow 
ances  for  him,  and  I  do  n't  expect  it.  I 
78 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

know  you  are  shocked  and  indignant  and 
all  that,  but  you  may  save  yourself  the 
trouble.  It  is  terrible  and  unfortunate 
for  me,  of  course,  but  I  can  see,  if  no  one 
else  does,  that  it  is  not  unnatural.  He 
is  highly  cultivated  and  intellectual,  and  I 
am  not  a  companion  for  him.  It  was 
long  before  I  would  acknowledge  it,  but  I 
have  looked  it  in  the  face  at  last.  I  was 
never  worthy  of  him  • —  but  oh,  while  he 
loved  me,  it  did  n't  matter  in  the  least  that 
I  was  so  inferior  to  him  !  And  he  did 
love  me  —  he  did  !  he  did  !  — as  much  as  he 
can  love  anybody  —  as  much,  I  do  be 
lieve,  as  he  will  ever  love  that  beautiful, 
wicked  woman  he  is  going  to  marry." 

"  Going  to  marry  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bryan,  almost  breathless,  but  the  little 
creature  who  stood  near  by  with  her  cold 
hands  pressed  against  her  burning  cheeks, 
and  her  excited  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  paid 
no  attention  to  the  reflection  of  astonish 
ment  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  going  to  marry,"  she  said. 
79 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

seen  me  a  year  ago  you  would  not  say 
that.  Look  at  my  poor  thin  arms,"  pull 
ing  up  her  sleeve.  "  They  used  to  be  so 
plump  and  round  that  Bertie  never  tired 
of  kissing  and  praising  them.  And  look 
at  my  face,  so  white  and  pasty,  when  I 
used  to  have  a  color  like  a  rose  !  Oh, 
I  'm  glad  he  can  't  see  me  now !  I  'm 
glad  he  does  n't  know  how  I  have 
changed  !  " 

"  Then  why  do  you  get  the  divorce  ?  " 
Mrs.  Bryan  could  n't  help  saying.  "  You 
are  doing  it,  and  not  he  —  aren't  you? 
What  makes  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  wants  it,"  she  answered 
with  a  look  of  defiance.  She  expected 
nothing  else  but  that  Mrs.  Bryan  would 
hold  with  all  her  other  friends,  and  she 
wanted  to  show  her,  at  once,  that  she  did 
not  care. 

"  And  why  does  he  want  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  tired  of  me  —  simply 
that.  No  one  but  me  can  make  allow 
ances  for  him,  and  I  do  n't  expect  it.  I 
78 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

know  you  are  shocked  and  indignant  and 
all  that,  but  you  may  save  yourself  the 
trouble.  It  is  terrible  and  unfortunate 
for  me,  of  course,  but  I  can  see,  if  no  one 
else  does,  that  it  is  not  unnatural.  He 
is  highly  cultivated  and  intellectual,  and  I 
am  not  a  companion  for  him.  It  was 
long  before  I  would  acknowledge  it,  but  I 
have  looked  it  in  the  face  at  last.  I  was 
never  worthy  of  him  —  but  oh,  while  he 
loved  me,  it  did  n't  matter  in  the  least  that 
I  was  so  inferior  to  him  !  And  he  did 
love  me  —  he  did  !  he  did  !  — as  much  as  he 
can  love  anybody  —  as  much,  I  do  be 
lieve,  as  he  will  ever  love  that  beautiful, 
wicked  woman  he  is  going  to  marry." 

"  Going  to  marry  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bryan,  almost  breathless,  but  the  little 
creature  who  stood  near  by  with  her  cold 
hands  pressed  against  her  burning  cheeks, 
and  her  excited  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  paid 
no  attention  to  the  reflection  of  astonish 
ment  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  going  to  marry,"  she  said. 
79 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"  That  is  why  he  was  so  determined  to 
have  the  divorce.  I  knew  he  had  begun 
to  weary  of  me  ;  I  knew  I  had  nothing  in 
me  to  keep  the  love  of  a  great  creature 
such  as  he  is,  but  I  think  he  would  have 
stayed  with  me  and  let  me  go  on  loving 
him,  at  least,  if  he  had  not  seen  that 
widow,  who  made  up  her  mind  to  have 
him  the  moment  she  laid  eyes  on  him, 
and  saw  how  far  above  other  men  he 
was." 

"  But  you  could  have  prevented  it ! 
He  could  n't  have  got  the  divorce  from 
you.  Did  n't  he  know  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  knew  it,"  she  answered, 
in  the  petulant  tone  she  often  used  to 
Mauma.  "  He's  a  man  thoroughly  in 
formed  on  every  subject.  He  knew  he 
could  never  get  it,  and  that  the  only  way 
was  for  me  to  do  it.  He  made  a  great 
mistake,  though,  and  gave  himself  and  me 
six  miserable  months  of  suffering." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  He  tried  to  force  me  to  sue  for  a 
80 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

divorce,"  she  said;  "  and  used  every  means 
that  he  could  think  of.  My  friends  were 
wildly  excited,  and  demanded  that  I  should 
get  the  divorce,  but  they  might  as  well 
have  talked  into  the  air.  I  had  but  one 
answer:  'I  love  him  —  love  him  —  do 
you  understand  ?  And  there  is  nothing 
love  cannot  forgive  ! ' : 

"  Love  —  yes,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bryan, 
now  no  longer  able  to  control  her  indigna 
tion.  u  Love  is  all  very  well  —  but  where 
is  your  pride  ?  " 

The  tiny  creature  standing  on  the  rug 
drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  and  looked 
her  in  the  eyes,  as  she  answered  : 

"  I  have  none,  where  he  is  concerned." 

"  Merciful  goodness  !  "  exclaimed  the 
other,  with  a  deep-drawn  breath.  "  Then 
if  you  have  n't  any  pride,  what  induced 
you  to  agree  to  the  divorce  ?  " 

"  Love,"  said  the  other,  solemnly.    "  If 

he  had  understood  that  —  if  he  had  made 

that  appeal  at  first  —  he  might  have  had 

his  way  in  the  beginning,  instead  of  the 

81 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

end.  If,  instead  of  subjecting  me  to  all 
the  shame  and  outrage  that  he  made  me 
endure,  he  had  done  at  first  what  he  did  at 
last,  he  might  have  spared  himself  as  well 
as  me  much  suffering." 

"  You  do  n't  mean  to  say  you  consented 
because " 

"  Because  I  loved  him,"  she  replied,  in 
a  voice  beginning  to  shake,  as  her  eyes 
began  to  fill.  "  Oh,  why  do  I  talk  about 
it  ?  No  one  will  ever  understand.  You 
are  all  alike,  and  blame  me,  because  you 
do  n't  know  what  it  is  to  love,  as  I  love 
him.  He  came  to  me  at  last,  after  those 
awful  months,  and  when  he  came  into  the 
room  and  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  I 
looked  up  and  feasted  my  hungry  eyes  on 
the  sight  of  him.  the  love  that  shook  my 

o  / 

breast  then  was  a  thing  you  other  women 
do  n't  know.  He  called  my  name. 
'  Mimi,'  he  said,  4  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  make  me  happy,  if  you  will.' 
And  I  said  :  '  I  will  do  anything  you  ask.' 
He  came  then  and  took  me  in  his  arms 
82 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

and  told  me  he  wanted  me  to  get  the 
divorce.  He  said  he  was  selfish  and  vile 
and  unworthy  of  me,  that  I  would  be 
happier  without  him,  and  a  great  deal  more 
such  trash,  and  I  told  him  I  had  but  one 
desire  in  the  world,  and  that  was  to  make 
him  happy,  and  that  I  would  give  him  the 
divorce.  With  those  arms  around  me, 
and  those  eyes  looking  into  mine  beseech 
ingly,  there  was  nothing  I  could  have 
denied  him  —  only  I  had  rather  it  had 
been  the  last  drop  of  my  blood  he  had 
asked  for.  That  was  not  what  he  wanted, 
though,  and  I  gave  him  what  he  did  want. 
I  asked  him  if  it  would  not  please  him 
better  if  I  were  dead,  and  if  he  had  said 
yes,  I  would  have  killed  myself.  But  he 
said  no,  that  would  make  him  wretched  ; 
he  only  wanted  me  to  let  him  be  free,  and 
to  be  free  myself  to  marry  some  good  man 
who  would  make  me  happy  as  I  deserved. 
He  knows  that  woman  is  n't  good ;  he 
told  me  so  himself — at  least  he  said  she 
was  utterly  different  from  me,  and  so  much 
83 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

more  fit  to  be  the  companion  of  a  poor 
devil  like  himself.  I  do  n't  know  how  it 
is,"  she  broke  off,  passionately,  "  but  if 
being  a  devil  could  make  him  love  me 
again,  I  'd  be  a  devil,  too,  if  I  could  !  Of 
course  you  're  shocked,  but  I  would ! 
Well,  no  matter  what  happens,  I  've  got 
that  evening  to  remember.  He  had  not 
been  pleased  with  me  for  so  long,  that  it 
was  like  heaven  on  earth  to  have  him  as 
he  was  then.  He  let  me  sit  on  his  lap, 
and  hold  him  tight  around  the  neck,  and 
kiss  his  curls  and  his  eyes  and  his  darling 
mouth.  You  need  n't  look  so  horrified," 
she  said  with  sudden  resentment,  "  he 
was  my  husband  still,  and  he  's  my  husband 
now,  and  I  'm  proud  and  happy  I  can  say 
it  a  little  while  longer." 

At  the  last  words  her  voice  gave  way 
completely,  and  she  threw  herself  down  on 
the  lounge  and  burst  into  violent  sobbing. 
It  was  piteous  to  see  her,  and  Mrs.  Bryan, 
in  spite  of  the  tempestuous  indignation 
this  recital  had  aroused  in  her,  felt  her 
84 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

heart  grow  soft  with  sympathy  as  she 
looked  at  the  little  figure,  no  bigger  than 
that  of  many  a  child  of  fourteen,  shaken 
with  great  sobs  of  anguish  —  the  deep  and 
incurable  anguish  of  a  loving  and  despised 
wife. 

She  did  her  best  to  comfort  her,  and 
forced  herself  not  to  criticise,  knowing 
intuitively  what  the  poor  little  thing  must 
have  already  suffered  at  the  hands  of  her 
friends. 

She  found,  however,  that  the  task  of 
comforting  her  was  an  impossible  one. 
All  she  could  do  was  to  soothe  and  speak 
lovingly  to  her,  and  to  avoid  abuse  of  her 
husband  ;  she  felt  it  would  be  the  cause  of 
hopeless  estrangement  between  them,  if 
she  allowed  herself  to  express  her  true 
opinion  of  him. 

At  last,  when  Mrs.  Leith  had  consented 
to  be  covered  up,  and  made  physically 
comfortable,  and  had  drunk  a  cup  of  tea, 
Mrs.  Bryan  left  her  to  try  to  get  a  nap. 
She  had  Fleecy  in  her  arms,  with  her  head 
85 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

peeping  out  above  the  coverlet,  and  had 
laid  her  cheek  against  it  with  a  degree  of 
affectionateness  that  she  seemed  unable  to 
show  to  the  human  beings  about  her. 

"  It  is  only  because  Bertie  loves  Fleecy, 
and  she  loves  him,"  said  the  little  creature, 
answering  the  unspoken  thought  which 
she  had  read  in  Mrs.  Bryan's  eyes. 

As  the  latter  passed  through  the  outer 
room,  where  Mauma  was  sitting  at  the 
window  running  the  narrow  ribbons  in 
and  out  of  the  eyelet  holes  in  Mrs.  Leith's 
dainty  French  underclothes,  she  stopped 
and  looked  at  the  old  woman  inquiringly. 

"  She  bin  tell  you  all  'bout  it,  has  she?" 
said  Mauma,  looking  up  over  the  top  of 
her  brass-rimmed  spectacles.  "  I  knowed 
how  it  gwine  be,  soon  ez  I  see  you  done 
tech  her  heart,  by  nussing  o'  that  black 
varmint."  (It  always  seemed  to  give 
Mauma  great  satisfaction  to  apply  the  word 
"black"  to  Fleecy's  creamy  whiteness.) 
"  I  'm  glad  you  kin  mek  out  to  show  some 
likin'  fur  de  dirty  thing,  en  to  please 
86 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

Missy  I  'd  do  it  myself,  ef  I  could.  De 
Lord  knows  ef  anythin'  kin  please  her,  I 
want  her  to  have  it,  but  it 's  more  'n  I  got 
sense  to  do,  to  ack  like  I  love  dem  two 
darlin's  o'  hern." 

"Then  you  don't  like  Mr.  Leith, 
either  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  tentatively. 

"  Like  him  ?  Nor  'm,  I  do  n't  like  him, 
I  don'  like  him  for  nuthin'  —  a  good-for 
nuthin,'  low-life  raskill,  as  ain't  worthy 
to  tech  Missy's  feet !  Thar  ain'  but  one 
thing  in  the  worl'  I  won'  do  for  Missy,  en 
that 's  it  !  I  ain'  gwine  say  I  like  him,  kus 
I  pintedly  do  n't,  en  I  'd  wring  he  neck 
same  ez  a  chicken's,  ef  I  had  de  chance. 
Lor',  mistiss,  you  do  n'  know.  You  do  n' 
know  nuthin' !  De  sights  he  is  tuk  dat  air 
little  angel-chile  through  is  enough  to  tun 
yer  hyar  right  white.  'Tain'  no  kine  o' 
shame  en  meanness  he  ain'  bin  heap  up  on 
her — a  puppus  to  mek  her  git  de  divoce. 
En  you  think  she  'd  do  it  ?  Nor  'm,  she 
would  n'  !  She  bin  quoil  wid  ev'ry  fr'en' 
she  got  in  de  worl'  'long  o'  that !  She 
87 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

ain'  'low  nobody  to  say  nuthin'  gin'  him. 
All  she  say  is,  '  When  you  love,  you  kin 
furgive  anything.'  He  mought  a  kep'  on, 
twel  jedgmen'-day,  en  he  mought  'a  drug 
her  through  de  streets  by  de  hyar  o'  her 
hade,  en  she  would  n'  nuver  'a'  uttered 
a  complaint.  De  warn'  but  one  way 
he  could  'a'  got  her  to  git  dat  divoce, 
en  he  jis  dat  mean  en  sneakin'  dat  he  bin 
foun'  dat  way  out.  He  come  to  her  at  las' 
wid  all  he  impident,  sweet  ways,  en  he  jiss 
coax  en  beg  for  it.  I  knowed  den  't  was 
all  up.  She  ain'  nuver  been  able  to  say 
no  to  him  in  her  life,  en  she  could  n't  say 
it  den.  So  she  tell  him.  Yes,  she  do  it 
fur  de  sake  o'  makin'  him  happy  en  pleased 
wid  her.  She  sont  right  off  fur  de  lawyer, 
en  made  all  de  'rangements.  I  hear  him 
tell  her  myself  dat  't  was  easy  'nough  to  do. 
Yes,  Lord  !  I  reckon  't  was  easy,  wid 
dem  scan'lous  doin's  o'  his  !  Lor,'  honey, 
you  do  n'  know,"  and  the  old  woman 
ended,  shaking  her  head  with  an  air  of 
deep  mystery. 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

The  ice  once  broken  between  Mrs. 
Bryan  and  her  boarder,  frequent  confi 
dences  followed,  but  it  was  always  the 
same  thing,  with  more  or  less  detail,  as  to 
the  charm,  superiority  and  lovableness  of 
the  husband  she  had  renounced,  or  was 
now  making  it  her  business  in  life  to 
renounce.  It  was  evident  to  Mrs.  Bryan 
that  the  days  passed  all  too  quickly  for 
Mr.  Manning's  client,  and  that  she  clung 
desperately  to  the  mere  form  that  retained 
him  as  her  husband. 

In  the  monotonous  regularity  of  her 
life  at  Belton  she  began  to  improve  in 
health  and  looks.  Mauma  attributed  it 
to  the  fact  that  she  no  longer  had  the 
torment  of  discussions  and  protest  from 
her  relatives  and  friends,  who  had  one 
and  all  abandoned  her  to  her  own  de 
vices.  So  indomitable  a  will  in  so  slight 
a  body,  it  was  certainly  strange  to  find. 
After  the  promise  to  her  husband  she  had 
never  faltered,  though  the  idea  of  the 
divorce  was  evidently  terrible  to  her  be- 
89 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

yond  words.  She  told  Mrs.  Bryan  that 
she  was  twenty  years  of  age,  but  it  was 
hard  to  believe  it.  She  looked  a  mere  slip 
of  a  girl,  and  was  made  with  such  exquisite 
perfection,  that  that  fact  seemed  to  make 
her  look  smaller  than  she  really  was. 
Every  one  who  saw  her  was  fascinated  by 
her  beauty,  but  she  was  cold  to  all  over 
tures  of  friendship,  and  seemed  to  have 
exhausted  on  her  husband  and  Fleecy  all 
her  capacity  for  affection.  She  still  cared 
scrupulously  for  her  toilet,  though  she 
wore  only  the  one  or  two  dark  dresses 
in  which  she  had  appeared  on  first  coming 
to  Belton.  Her  mother  had  been  a  Creole, 
and  from  this  source  she  had  got  her  little 
French  name,  Mimi,  which  she  told  Mrs. 
Bryan  her  husband  usually  abbreviated 
into  "  Mim."  There  was  also  a  trace  of 
her  French  origin  in  her  utterance  —  a 
certain  peculiarity  of  the  r  —  that  gave 
her  a  sort  of  unusualness  which  added  to 
her  charm. 

One  day,  the  morning    of  which   had 
90 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

passed  in  the  usual  uneventful  way,  Mrs. 
Leith  was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Bryan  in  the 
latter's  sitting-room,  when  a  telegram  was 
brought  in.  Mrs.  Bryan  took  it,  and  then 
handed  it  to  her  companion,  to  whom  it 
was  addressed.  As  she  read  it  she  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  uttered  a  cry  —  unmistak 
ably  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  Read  it  —  he  is  coming  !  "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Bryan  put  on  her  glasses  and  read 
these  words : 

"  Must  see  you  on  important  business.  Ar 
rive  at  eight  o'clock.  B." 

"  I  must  go — I  must  get  ready.  Where 
is  Mauma  ?  Mauma  !  "  she  called  as  she 
hurried  from  the  room,  and  ran  up  the 
stairs. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Bryan  went  to 
her  boarder's  room.  She  found  everything 
in  confusion.  Trunks  stood  open  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  ;  Eastern  stuffs  were 
scattered  all  about ;  exquisite  dresses  were 
lying  in  heaps,  and  poor  old  Mauma,  with 
protest  written  on  the  very  curve  of  her 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

back,  was  diving  into  a  trunk,  and  tran 
quilly  accepting  a  scolding  for  not  know 
ing  where  some  indispensable  article  was. 
"  I  am  going  to  hang  these  stuffs  about 
the  room,  and  get  out  a  few  ornaments," 
Mrs.  Leith  explained.  "  I  won't  hurt  any 
thing,  but  Bertie  does  so  love  to  see  things 
look  t  homey  and  comfy,'  as  he  calls  it. 
Will  you  send  some  one  to  the  florist,  and 
tell  him  I  want  lots  of  flowers — all  that  he 
has  ?  Oh,  Mrs.  Bryan,  do  tell  me — hon 
estly  and  candidly — which  of  these  dresses 
I  look  best  in.  You  see,  I  can't  tell  just 
what  humor  he  will  be  in.  Sometimes  he 
likes  to  see  me  dressed  as  richly  as  possi 
ble —  and  then  again  I  can't  be  too  simple. 
Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  —  I  know  what  I'll 
wear  !  I  'd  rather  he  'd  see  me  very  simple 
—  for  I  can  imagine  he  's  seen  plenty  of 
magnificence  lately.  I'll  wear  just  this  little 
white  crepe  gown  —  one  he  used  to  love. 
Perhaps  he  '11  remember  he  praised  it  once, 
and  be  pleased  at  my  remembering.  Oh, 
Mauma,  where 's  the  girdle  ?  You  don't 
92 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

seem  to  know  where  anything  is,  and  if 
you  've  lost  that  girdle — "  she  stopped, 
with  sudden  tears  of  vexation  in  her  eyes. 

Mauma  came  toward  her  with  the  girdle 
in  her  hand.  She  darted  forward  to  take  it, 
and  gave  the  old  woman  a  sudden  hug,  as 
she  said,  coaxingly  : 

"  Don't  be  cross  with  me  to-day, 
Mauma  —  please  don't.  I'm  so  happy. 
You  ought  to  be  glad  your  child  is  going 
to  be  happy  once  more  in  her  life.  He  's 
sure  to  be  pleased  with  me,  for  I  've  done 
every  little  thing  he  wants.  Oh,  to  think 
I  'm  going  to  see  him  once  more  !  " 
Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  she 
added  :  "  Don't  be  vexed  with  me  if  I  'm 
cross  and  rude  to-day.  I  'm  so  wild  with 
joy  that  I  can't  stand  the  suggestion  of 
anything  else.  And  oh,  Mrs.  Bryan,  if 
you  saw  him,  you  would  not  wonder. 
Promise  me  this,"  she  cried,  seizing  the 
other  woman  by  both  hands  with  intense 
earnestness,  "  promise  me  that  you  will  go 
to  the  door,  yourself,  when  he  comes,  and 
93 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

that  you  '11  just  say  some  little  thing  to 
him,  so  as  to  make  him  speak.  I  want 
you  to  hear  his  voice,  and  get  some  idea 
of  his  manner.  Then,  after  that,  if  you 
talk  about  Mr.  Manning  or  Mr.  Anybody 
else,  I  '11  promise  to  listen  to  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Bryan  agreed  to  do  as  she  wished, 
and  went  away  more  puzzled  and  aston 
ished  at  the  ways  of  her  boarder  than  she 
had  been  yet. 

Shortly  before  eight  o'clock  that  even 
ing,  Mrs.  Bryan,  dressed  in  her  neatest 
black  dress,  and  wearing  her  freshest  cap, 
went  up  to  Mrs.  Leith's  sitting-room. 
When  she  entered,  she  hardly  recognized 
it,  and  felt  as  if  she  must  be  in  a  dream. 
Wax  candles,  with  pink  shades,  were  set 
about  in  groups  ;  the  walls  and  furniture 
were  decorated  with  rich  embroideries  and 
Eastern  stuffs,  and  beautiful  flowers  were 
massed  together  on  tables  and  mantel. 
Fleecy  had  been  freshly  washed,  and  was 
ornamented  with  a  gay  pink  ribbon  tied  in 
an  enormous  bow  at  the  back  of  her  neck, 
94 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

suspending  a  little  gold  bell,  which  tinkled 
as  she  walked  about  with  her  great  tail  in 
the  air.  A  glowing  wood  fire  burned  on 
the  hearth,  and  on  a  white  fur  rug,  which 
had  been  spread  in  front  of  it,  stood  Mimi. 
The  metamorphosis  in  her  was  quite  as 
startling  as  in  the  room.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  scant  and  clinging  little  gown  of  white 
crepe,  half-low  about  the  throat,  from 
which  a  fall  of  creamy  lace  hung  down. 
It  was  loosely  gathered  in  about  the  waist 
by  a  silver  girdle,  and  had  great  flowing 
sleeves,  from  which  her  little  hands  came 
out  divested  of  all  ornament,  except  her 
wedding-ring.  Her  tiny  feet  were  cased 
in  white  slippers  worked  with  silver.  But 
the  wonder  of  it  all  was  her  face.  It  was 
nothing  short  of  radiantly  beautiful  this 
evening.  Her  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheeks 
were  pink  as  roses.  Her  hair,  instead  of 
being  twisted,  as  usual,  into  a  decorous 
knot,  was  falling  free  about  her  shoulders. 
It  was  not  long,  but  curly  and  fluffy  as  a 
child's. 

95 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"  You  look  about  twelve  years  old," 
was  Mrs.  Bryan's  comment. 

"  Bertie  always  said  so,  when  I  wore  my 
hair  like  this,"  she  answered,  delightedly. 
"  He  loves  it  this  way  best  of  all.  I  was 
so  afraid  I  'd  look  too  old  to  do  it ;  but  if 
I  have  grown  old  and  thin,  thank  the  good 
God,  it  does  n't  show  to-night !  " 

It  was  the  first  expression  of  religious 
fervor  that  Mrs.  Bryan  had  ever  heard  her 
use ;  but  as  she  said  this,  she  clasped  her 
hands  and  looked  upward  in  a  rapture  of 
thanksgiving,  the  sincerity  of  which  could 
not  be  doubted. 

"Fleecy,  do  you  know  who's  com 
ing  ? "  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  catching 
the  big  cat  up,  and  looking  into  its  face  as 
if  it  had  been  a  child's.  "  Master,  Fleecy 
—  master  !  " 

Fleecy  certainly  pricked  up  her  ears, 
seeing  which  her  mistress  covered  her  with 
rapturous  kisses,  while  Mrs.  Bryan  had 
more  than  a  suspicion  that  Fleecy  mistook 


96 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

the  word  "  master  "  for    "  mouse  ;  "  but 
this  she  would  not  have  dared  to  suggest. 

"  Is  n't  it  after  eight  ?  "  said  Mimi,  look 
ing  at  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel.  "  Oh, 
if  he  should  n't  come ! "  And  at  the 
thought  of  this  the  color  faded  from  her 
cheeks.  It  came  bounding  back,  however, 
the  next  minute,  as  the  door-bell  was  ' 
heard. 

When  Mrs.  Bryan  reached  the  landing 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  found  Mauma 
leaning  over  the  railing  and  looking  into 
the  hall  below. 

"  Is  it  Mr.  Leith  ?  "  Mrs.  Bryan  asked. 

"  Yes,  it's  him — the  ugly  buzzard  !  " 
answered  Mauma,  with  intense  disgust. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  smile  at  this 
comment  as  applied  to  the  man  whom  Mrs. 
Bryan  now  went  forward  to  meet.  She 
acknowledged  at  once,  as  she  saw  him 
shaking  the  thick  snowflakes  from  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  that  his  beauty  had  not 
been  exaggerated.  He  was  a  magnificent, 
blond  creature,  with  youthful  strength  and 
97 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

health  in  every  line  of  figure  and  face.  A 
ready  smile  of  good  humor  rose  to  his  lips, 
as  he  took  off  his  hat  with  a  splendid  grace 
and  made  Mrs.  Bryan  a  bow. 

"  Mrs.  Leith  is  expecting  you,"  she 
said.  "Will  you  go  up  to  her  sitting- 
room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks,  when  I  have  got  rid 
of  some  of  this  snow.  I  must  ask  your 
forgiveness  for  bringing  so  mu^h  of  it  into 
your  house.  It 's  clean,  however,  and  I 
hope  will  do  no  harm." 

As  he  spoke  he  was  taking  off  his  long, 
fur-lined  coat,  and  as  he  threw  in  on  a 
chair,  he  looked  at  her  again  and  smiled. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  have  it  brushed  for  you !  " 
she  said,  and  then  stopped  short,  provoked 
at  having  been  so  civil  to  the  man  whom 
she  had  intended  to  treat  with  cold  con 
tempt. 

"  Walk  up-stairs,"  she  said,  more  dis 
tantly.  "  I  '11  go  with  you,  and  show  you 
the  room." 

He  gave  her  the   smallest  of  bows,  but 

O  * 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

it  gave  the  old  widow  an  agreeable  sense 
of  homage.  As  he  preceded  her  up  the 
stairs,  he  said,  in  a  voice  no  one  could 
fail  to  find  delightful : 

"  What  a  fascinating  old  house  you 
have  ! " 

The  compliment  was  agreeable  to  her, 
but  at  the  same  time  she  felt  a  certain  in 
dignation  that  he  could  be  so  unmoved  at 
the  prospect  of  an  interview  which  had 
put  that  poor  child,  waiting  yonder,  in  a 
fever  of  agitation. 

Mauma  had  disappeared  from  the  land 
ing,  and  when  Mrs.  Bryan  had  pointed  out 
the  door,  she  turned  and  went  downstairs. 
She  heard  his  quick  knock,  and  then  the 
turn  of  the  knob.  As  she  looked  back,  he 
was  just  disappearing  and  closing  the  door 
after  him. 

In  the  room  beyond  that  closed  door  in 
tense  silence  reigned  for  some  moments. 
Leith  had  come  no  farther  than  across  the 
threshold,  and  stood  with  his  back  against 
the  door.  Then,  undoubtedly,  Fleecy  rec- 
99 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

ognized  him,  for  she  came  forward  and 
began  to  rub  against  his  legs,  making  a 
purring  noise  distinctly  audible  in  the  silent 
room.  Fleecy's  mistress  stood  on  the  rug 
intensely  still,  with  her  hands  clasped  tight 
together. 

Presently  the  man  spoke,  in  his  very 
gentlest  voice. 

"  Fleecy  is  glad  to  see  me,"  he  said  in 
a  tone  of  tender  reproach. 

"And  so  am  I !  Oh,  Bertie ! "  she 
gasped,  catching  her  breath  with  a  sort  of 
sob. 

"Are  you  ?  "  he  said,  and,  standing  where 
he  was,  he  held  out  his  arms.  In  a  second 
she  had  flown  to  them,  and  the  great  man 
had  lifted  her  off  her  feet  and  caught  her 
to  his  breast  and  held  her  there.  She 
clung  with  both  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
laid  her  face  in  the  hollow  of  his  throat. 
For  a  few  seconds  neither  spoke,  and  then 
he  put  her  down,  still  holding  one  of  her 
hands,  and  led  her  so  across  the  room. 

"  So  you  are   glad   to   see   me,  Mim  !  " 

IOO 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

he  said,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
taking  her  little  face  between  his  large, 
beautiful  hands. 

"  I  worship  you,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  him,  through  two  big  tears. 

"  So  you  're  just  as  big  a  goose  as 
ever !  "  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  still 
holding  her  so  and  looking  down  at  her. 
"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  sorry,  but  do  you 
think  I  am  ?  Well,  I  'm  not.  I  'm  glad !  " 
Impossible  to  describe  the  winning  charm 
of  this  man's  manner,  or  the  tender  beauty 
of  his  face  as  he  said  this.  "  But  stand 
off  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  he  went 
on,  loosing  her  face  to  take  her  two  hands 
and  hold  her  at  arm's  length  by  them. 
"  Who  said  you  were  losing  your  beauty  ? 
It's  not  so.  You  're  absolutely  bewitch 
ing.  I  doubt  —  now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you 
something  that  will  make  you  happy  for  a 
year- — I  seriously  doubt,  upon  my  word  of 
honor,  whether  any  one  else  in  the  world 
is  so  pretty." 

She  smiled    until    her   cheeks   dimpled, 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

but  the  next  moment  the  tears  had  sprung 
to  her  eyes. 

"What  does  it  matter,"  she  said,  "if 
you  do  n't  care  ?  " 

"  Do  n't  I,  though  ?  I  can  tell  you  I  do 
care  tremendously.  Do  you  suppose,  after 
all  that's  been  between  you  and  me,  that  I 
shall  lose  interest  in  you  and  never  care 
what  happens  to  you  in  the  future  ? " 

"  But  if  we  never  see  each  other " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said  hurriedly. 
"That  's  pretty  hard,  poor  baby  !  But 
do  n't  think,  in  spite  of  all  that's  happened, 
do  n't  think  I  'm  not  sorry  for  you.  Some 
times,  when  I  think  about  how  unhappy 
and  lonely  you  are,  it  drives  me  wild.  I 
have  to  go  to  the  theatre,  or  play  polo,  or 
do  something  to  make  me  forget  it. 
There  's  one  thought  that  always  consoles 
me,  however,  and  that  is  that  you  '11  be  well 
rid  of  such  a  scamp  as  I  am.  I  've  been 
a  brute  to  you,  Mimi,  and  one  thing  that 
brought  me  here  was  to  ask  you  to  forgive 
me." 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"  There  's  nothing  to  forgive,  Bertie  ; 
I  've  never  had  one  hard  feeling  toward 
you,"  she  answered  in  a  low  and  resolutely 
steadied  voice. 

"  That 's  because  you  're  an  angel  on 
earth,  not  because  I  have  n't  treated  you 
abominably.  I  know  it  and  confess  it 
freely,  but  I  hate  to  think  about  it." 

"Then  do  n't  think  about  it,  our  last 
evening  together." 

The  words  almost  choked  her,  and  he 
saw  her  throat  swell ;  he  saw,  too,  that  she 
was  making  a  tremendous  effort  not  to 
cry.  They  had  sat  down  in  two  chairs  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  were  looking  away 
from  each  other.  After  a  short  silence  the 
man  turned  toward  her,  compelling  her,  by 
his  persistent  gaze,  to  turn  her  eyes  to  his. 
Then  he  said  : 

"  It  is  n't  natural  for  us  to  sit  together 
like  this.  You  used  to — "  He  smiled 
and  laid  his  hand  on  his  knee.  She  came 
at  once  and  took  the  seat,  and  when  she 
had  done  so,  he  lifted  one  of  her  arms 
103 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

and  laid  it  around  his  neck.  Then  he 
laughed — a  low  laugh  of  appreciative 
amusement. 

"  I  *m  sure  I  do  n't  know  whether  this 
is  proper  or  not,"  he  said,  "  and  I  suppose 
you  can't  inform  me.  By  Jove,  this  is  a 
situation  !  Come,  Mim,  I  always  said  you 
had  no  sense  of  humor,  but  you  can't 
help  seeing  the  fun  of  this  !  " 

The  poor  child  tried  her  best  to  smile, 
but  perhaps  his  accusation  of  her  was  not 
unjust,  for  the  effect  was  a  complete  failure, 
and  she  had  to  hide  her  face  against  his 
neck  to  conceal  the  fact  that  tears  had 
come  instead  of  smiles. 

"  Do  n't  try  to  make  me  laugh,"  she 
said  ;  "  if  you  do,  I  'm  sure  to  cry,  and  I 
do  not  want  to  do  that.  It  always  made 
you  angry  to  see  me  cry." 

"All  right,  then,  we  won't  laugh  or  cry 
either.  We '11  just  be  sensible,  and  you '11 
show  me  what  a  little  brick  you  really  are. 
You  've  acted  in  a  way  already  to  win  a 
tremendous  respect  from  me.  You  can 
104 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

just  remember  that.  I  do  n't  know  another 
woman  who  'd  have  behaved  as  well.  And, 
now,  let  me  show  you  something.  Do  n't 
move,  it 's  just  here  in  my  pocket.  I  had 
such  a  sweet  idea  the  other  day.  You 
see,"  he  went  on,  as  she  sat  up  to  look, 
"  I  knew  you  'd  feel  badly  about  leaving 
off  the  ring,  when — when  the  time  comes, 
so  I  've  got  you  another — not  plain  gold, 
of  course,  but  one  you  can  always  wear, 
in  place  of  it,  for  my  sake.  Is  n't  it  a  little 
beauty  ?  "  He  opened  his  hand  and  showed 
her  a  ring  set  with  two  very  perfect  pearls, 
one  white  and  one  black. 

"  The  white  's  for  you,  and  the  black  's 
for  me,"  he  said,  laughing,  as  he  slipped  it 
on  her  finger.  "  I  knew  it  would  fit,"  he 
went  on,  "  for  /  knew  what  a  mite  of  a 
hand  it  was  for  !  The  man  thought  it  was 
for  a  child." 

"  Oh,  how  dear,  how  lovely,  how  beau 
tiful  it  is  !  "  said  Mirni.  "  How  good  you 
were  to  think  of  it !  But,  Bertie — "  She 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said  :  "  You 
105 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

won't  be  vexed   if  I  ask  you   something, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
frown.  "I  do  n't  like  questions." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that — and  I  'm  not  going 
to  inquire  into  anything  !  You  need  n't 
be  afraid  of  that.  All  I  want  is  to  know 
whether  —  when  the  time  comes  —  I  '11  be 
obliged  to  take  off  my  wedding-ring? 
Could  n't  I  wear  it  still  ?  " 

She  looked  into  his  face  with  the  most 
earnest  beseeching,  and  evidently  with  in 
tense  anxiety  as  to  his  reply. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  could  —  if  you 
wanted  to !  I  do  n't  see  why  not.  I 
never  heard  of  anyone's  doing  it,  but  of 
course  you  can  keep  it  on,  if  it  will  be  a 
comfort  to  you.  It 's  a  natural  enough 
wish.  Precious  thing !  I  declare  it 's 
perfectly  touching  ! " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Bertie,  thank  you  !  " 
she  cried,  throwing  her  arms   around   his 
neck  again.      "  You  do  n't  know  what  a 
load  you  have  taken  off  my  mind!  " 
106 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"  Poor  little  Mim,"  he  said,  gently 
stroking  her  hair,  "  how  you  can  care  as 
you  do  about  such  a  devil  of  a  scamp  as  I 
am  is  the  mystery  !  " 

41  You  are  not — you  are  good,"  she 
said  brokenly,  "  and  Bertie,  there  is  just 
one  more  thing  I  want  to  ask  you  to  let  me 
keep.  If  you  '11  do  that,  I  '11  be  satisfied." 

"What  is  it?" 

She  put  her  lips  to  his  ear  and  whispered  : 
"  Your  name." 

He  did  not  answer  immediately,  and 
turning  to  look  in  his  face,  she  saw  that 
he  looked  perplexed. 

"  Upon  my  word,  my  darling  child,  I 
do  n't  know  how  that  is,  but  if  it  can  be 
arranged,  of  course  I  am  willing,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Bertie,  Bertie  !  How  can  I 
ever  thank  you  ?  I  was  almost  afraid  to 
ask  it  —  but  it  would  break  my  heart  to 
have  to  give  up  your  name." 

"  There,  then,  precious  child,  you 
shan't !  "  he  said,  soothingly.  I  '11  talk 
to  the  lawyers  about  it  at  once.  There 
107 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

are  one  or  two  business  points  on  which 
I  have  to  speak  to  you — .things  you  will 
have  to  give  your  consent  to.-  That  is 
what  I  came  chiefly  to  see  about  —  at  least 
that  was  my  excuse,  though  I  wanted  to 
see  you,  too,  and  to  be  sure  you  had  for 
given  me.  You  do  believe  I'm  sorry  for 
all  the  pain  I  Ve  caused  you  —  do  n't  you, 
darling  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  are  !  I  know  you 
would  n't  have  done  it  willingly.  It  was 
only  a  misunderstanding.  If  you  had 
come  to  me  at  first  and  told  me  what 
you  wanted  me  to  do,  I  would  have  done 
it.  It 's  the  same  thing  now.  There  is 
no  need  to  consult  me.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want  me  to 
consent  to." 

"  We  can  get  through  with  it  very 
quickly,  then,"  he  said.  "  I  might  have 
known  how  good  and  generous  you  would 
be ;  but  you  see  I  can't  help  making  the 
mistake  of  thinking  you  are  like  the  rest 
of  the  world,  which  you  are  not !  " 
108 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

He  explained  to  her  briefly,  then,  the 
points  on  which  he  had  wanted  to  confer 
with  hei,  but  found,  as  she  had  said,  that 
he  had  her  consent  to  everything  he  wished 
beforehand. 

"  Oh,  do  n't  let 's  spoil  our  last,  last 
time,  by  talking  about  things  like  that  !  " 
she  said,  presently.  "  Let 's  take  Fleecy 
up  between  us  and  be  happy  this  once,  as 
we  used  to  be  all  the  time." 

So  Fleecy  was  called  and  put  in  the  old 
familiar  place,  where  she  nestled  snugly 
down,  and  purred  and  dozed  in  absolute 
contentment.  Both  of  them  caressed  the 
cat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  the  tiny  hand 
following  the  big  one  up  and  down  its 
back.  Presently  Mimi  lifted  her  hand,  and 
said  : 

"  Kiss  my  ring,  please.  I  should  always 
be  regretting  it,  if  I  did  n't  make  you  do 
that."  He  kissed  it,  and  the  hand  too, 
holding  it  against  his  lips  a  full  moment, 
so  that  she  felt  his  breath  upon  it. 

Presently  she  spoke  again  :  "  Have  I 
109 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

been  good?  "  she  said.  "  Are  you  pleased 
with  me,  Bertie  ?  Do  tell  me  so,  if  you 
are.  I  want  to  remember  that  you  said 
so." 

"  Pleased  with  you,  my  good  little  dar 
ling  ?  Why,  how  could  I  fail  to  be  ?  The 
more  I  see  of  your  goodness,  the  more 
convinced  I  am  that  I  was  never  worthy 
of  you,  and  my  hope  is  that,  once  freed 
of  me,  you  will  meet  some  man  who 
will  deserve  you  better  and  make  you 
happy." 

She  put  her  little  hand  over  his  mouth, 
so  that  the  last  words  were  stifled,  as  she 
said  to  him,  in  a  voice  of  keen  reproach  : 

"  Bertie,  how  can  you,  how  dare  you 
think  of  such  a  thing  ?  It  is  the  one 
thing  on  earth  I  could  n't  forgive  you  for. 
I  can  forgive  utterly  and  freely  your  get 
ting  tired  of  me,  and  wanting  a  cleverer, 
handsomer,  more  amusing  wife.  It  is  noth 
ing  but  natural  that  you  should,  and  I  can 
see  it.  But,  oh,  my  dear  darling,  do  n't 
believe  that  I  could  ever  love  any  one  else  ! 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

If  I  thought  you  would  believe  that  of  me, 
I  do  n't  believe  I  could  help  killing  myself. 
Promise  me,  Bertie ;  give  me  your  word, 
you  '11  never  say  such  a  thing  as  that 
again." 

"  I  promise,  child  ;  I  promise,"  he  re 
plied,  half-awed  by  the  intensity  of  her 
reproach.  "  You  are  a  mystery  to  me, 
and  I  'm  a  mystery  to  myself,  to  have 
won  such  love." 

"  You  did  n't  win  it,"  she  said ;  "  you 
just  got  it,  by  being  what  you  are." 

"  But  no  one  else  has  ever  given  it  to 
me  —  or  ever  will,"  he  added,  with  convic 
tion. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  a  deep,  indrawn 
breath,  sitting  upright  on  his  knee,  and 
clasping  her  hands  tight  together,  "  you 
will  find  that  out,  Bertie  !  I  know  no 
one  will  ever  love  you  as  I  do." 

"  I  know  it  too,"  he  said,  a  look  of 
despondency  suddenly  crossing  his  face. 

"  Bertie,"  she  said,  timidly.  "  Do  n't 
be  angry  with  me  if  I  ask  you  something." 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"  I  warned  you  not  to  ask  questions." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  I  'm  not  going  to  do 
anything  to  bother  you.  I  promise  that, 
and  you  know  I  always  keep  my  word. 
Only,  if  you  would  tell  me  about  things, 
it  would  be  easier  than  hearing  it  from 
others,  or  from  the  papers.  But  suppose," 
she  was  watching  his  face  intently,  to  see 
if  its  expression  permitted  her  to  go  on, 
u  suppose,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  you  were 
to  grow  tired  of  her,  and  wanted  her,  for 
your  sake,  to  give  you  your  freedom.  Do 
you  think  she  'd  love  you  enough  to  do 
what  I  have  done  ?  " 

A  curious  smile  came  suddenly  to  his 
face  : 

u  Do  what  you  have  done  ?  "  he  said. 
"  I  think  she  'd  probe  for  my  heart  with  a 
polished  stiletto  sooner,  or  put  a  spider  into 
my  dumpling  !  " 

u  Then  she  loves  herself  better  than 
she  loves  you  —  and  I  love  you  better 
than  I  love  myself!  " 

She    said   these   words  with    an    infinite 


112 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

satisfaction,  and  the  expression  of  her  face 
was  triumphant  —  almost  happy.  Her 
cheeks  had  still  that  feverish  color,  and 
her  eyes  were  wide  and  brilliant,  as  they 
rested  with  a  hungry,  expectant  look  upon 
his  face.  He,  meantime,  sat  silent,  look 
ing  into  the  fire.  When,  at  last,  com 
pelled  by  her  steady  gaze,  he  looked  at 
her,  there  was  such  dumb,  intense  entreaty 
in  her  eyes  as  he  could  not  misunder 
stand. 

"  Mim,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  do  you 
want  me  to  kiss  you  ?  " 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "  If  you 
wouldn't  mind — just  once,"  she  an 
swered. 

Their  lips  met  in  a  long  kiss.  As  he 
drew  backward  from  it,  he  put  her  gently 
from  him,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  must  say  good-by,  now,"  he  said. 
"  It 's  time  for  me  to  go." 

She  gave  a  little  cry,  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  half-distracted  gaze,  as  she  said, 
excitedly  : 

"3 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

"Oh,  not  yet  —  not  yet,  surely!  I 
thought  you  would  stay  for  hours.  Oh, 
Bertie,  do  n't  leave  me  yet — just  as  we 
were  so  happy  !  My  heart  will  break  !  " 

She  turned  away  with  an  instinct  to 
conceal  from  him  the  agony  in  her  face. 
He  saw  her  wring  her  little  hands  together, 
and  then  put  them  to  her  lips  and  bite 
them,  and  he  knew  she  was  making  an 
effort,  for  his  sake,  not  to  cry.  But  it  was 
worse  still  to  see  this  courageous  struggle 
with  agony,  and  his  one  thought  was  to 
get  away. 

"  Bertie,"  she  said,  suddenly  turning 
toward  him  her  pallid  and  terrified  face, 
"  I'm  going  to  bear  it  if  I  can.  I  '11  do 
my  very  best,  but  if —  if  I  find  I  can  't  — 
if  it  is  going  to  be  like  this  always,  and  I 
can 't  bear  it,  would  you  mind  it  very 
much — do  you  think  you  could  keep  from 
letting  it  make  you  unhappy —  if  I  could  n't 
bear  it  —  and  killed  myself?  " 

"  Mind  it !  What  are  you  talking  about ! 
Why,  what  do  you  think  1  'm  made  of? 
114 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

I  should  never  have  another  happy  moment 
as  long  as  I  lived.  You  would  simply 
make  me  a  miserable  man  for  life." 

"  Then  I  won't  do  it !  "  she  said,  hur 
riedly.  "Indeed,  indeed,  I  won't  !  Don't 
look  at  me  reproachfully,  darling  !  Forget 
that  I  ever  thought  of  that.  It  was  only 
a  moment 's  frenzy,  and  it  does  n't  really 
amount  to  anything.  I  give  you  my 
promise  not  to  do  it,  and  I  know  you  'II 
believe  in  that." 

"  Lord,  what  a  relief!  "  he  said,  with  a 
great  sigh.  "  You  frightened  me  out  of 
my  wits  ;  but  of  course  you  did  n't  mean 
it.  Now  that  you  've  promised,  I  feel  safe. 
You  are  too  good  and  tender  to  give  me 
such  a  life-long  sorrow  as  that  would  be. 
You  never  could  have  done  it ;  but  it  gave 
me  a  scare.  You  do  n't  believe  it  now, 
but  once  it  is  inevitable,  you  '11  get  over 
this  extreme  feeling  about  me,  and  be 
happy." 

"  O  Bertie,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  I  do  n't 
want  to  make  you  angry,  dearest,  but  if 

"5 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

you  only  wouldn't  say  that!  I  'm  willing 
for  you  to  think  of  me  as  happy,  if  it 
would  comfort  you,  but  not  by  losing  one 
atom  of  my  love  for  you.  Try  to  think 
of  it  this  way  —  that  I'm  happy  because 
I  love  you,  so  that  to  have  given  you  the 
wish  of  your  heart  makes  me  happier  than 
to  have  the  wish  of  my  heart.  Will  you 
try?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  darling.  I  '11  do 
anything  on  earth  I  can  to  please  you. 
I  'm  sure  I  ought.  But  now,"  glancing 
at  the  clock,  "  I  must  really  be  going.  I'm 
obliged  to  get  back  on  to-night's  train." 

It  was  no  use  struggling  any  longer.  She 
had  no  strength  for  the  effort.  With 
the  weakness  of  utter  surrender,  she  threw 
herself  into  his  arms  and  sobbed. 

"  There,  there,  baby,"  he  said,  sooth 
ingly.  "  Do  n't  cry  so,  darling.  Why, 
there's  lots  and  lots  to  make  you  happy  in 
life  yet.  I  '11  always  remember  you  as 
the  noblest  and  most  unselfish  little  woman 
that  ever  lived  ;  you  '11  have  that  to  comfort 
116 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

you.  Do  n't  let  it  make  you  so  wretched, 
precious  child.  You  and  Fleecy  will  have 
many  merry  days  together  yet." 

At  the  mention  of  Fleecy,  who  was 
contentedly  napping  on  the  rug,  the  poor 
little  creature  lifted  her  head,  to  say, 
brokenly  : 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  Fleecy  ?  You 
always  loved  her  so.  I  meant  to  tell  you 
you  could  have  her  if  you  wanted.  I 
could  give  her  up,  if  it  would  please  you." 

"  No,  my  precious,  no  —  not  for  the 
world.  I  would  n't  take  her  from  you,  for 
anything.  How  could  you  think  I  'd  be 
so  selfish?  " 

"  Thank  you,  darling,"  she  sobbed, 
with  her  face  hidden  on  his  shoulder.  "  I 
would  n't  care  so  very  much  to  keep  her, 
but  that  you  gave  her  to  me,  and  loved 
her,  and  she  was  always  with  us  when  we 
were  so  happy.  Oh,  Bertie,  darling,  be 
loved,  precious  treasure  of  my  heart, 
you  've  been  so  good  to  me  !  You  made 
me,  for  two  years,  the  happiest  creature 
117 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

outside  of  heaven.  If  it  's  any  comfort 
to  you,  you  can  think  of  that." 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  a  comfort  to 
me,  darling — and,  by  Jove,  I  expect  to 
need  something  to  comfort  me,  when  I 
think  of  you,  and  how  unhappy  I  've  made 
you  !  " 

"  Do  n't  reproach  yourself.  You 
could  n't  help  it.  I  always  knew  there 
was  nothing  in  me  to  keep  the  love  of 
such  a  man  as  you.  Oh,  Bertie,  my  hus 
band  !"  she  cried,  still  clasping  his  neck, 
but  drawing  back  that  she  might  look  into 
his  eyes,  "  let  me  call  you  by  that  name 
once  more,  for  you  are  still  my  husband  — 
mine,  mine,  mine,  and  no  one  else's  ! 
Call  me  'wife'  once  more,  my  darling, 
before  we  say  good-bye." 

"  My  little  wife,  my  little  wife  —  my 
good,  true,  noble,  unselfish,  little  wife,"  he 
said,  while  her  arms  clasped  him  tighter 
and  tighter,  and  a  shiver  shook  her  little 
frame  from  head  to  foot. 

The  man's  face,  too,  was  seamed  with 
118 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

the  lines  of  pain  and  disturbance.  He 
looked  at  the  clock  and  at  the  door,  with 
the  evident  desire  to  escape  ;  but  he  could 
not  force  her  from  him  while  she  cried 
and  clung  like  this. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do,"  he  said, 
suddenly,  as  a  thought  struck  him,  "  I  '11 
walk  you,  as  I  used  to  do,  when  you  got 
nervous  and  unhappy.  It  always  made 
you  quiet  — do  you  remember?" 

"  Oh,  you  're  so  good  to  me,  darling !  " 
she  murmured,  as  he  took  her  up  in  his 
arms  like  a  child,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  with  her.  He  was 
magnificently  strong,  and  she  was  light 
and  little,  so  that  it  was  no  great  tax  upon 
him.  Fleecy,  with  her  plumy  tail  held 
high  and  her  little  gold  bell  tinkling,  join 
ed  them,  and  walked  at  their  side,  up  and 
down,  up  and  down.  Now  and  then 
Mimi  would  murmur  some  words  of 
tenderness  and  gratitude,  and  he  would 
answer  with  some  soothing  caress. 

The  faculty  of  humor  was  not  lacking 
119 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

in  his  composition,  at  least,  for,  in  spite  of 
the  agitated  pain  he  had  just  been  suffering, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  little  proces 
sion  in  passing  a  mirror,  he  smiled  at  his 
own  reflection.  The  smile  was  quickly 
suppressed,  however,  as  he  went  on  speak 
ing  to  her  soothingly.  It  had  —  as  he 
had  predicted  —  a  marvellous  effect.  The 
little  thing  ceased  sobbing,  and  her  breast 
grew  quiet,  after  its  excited  heavings. 

At  last,  the  clock  struck,  and  he  took 
her  to  the  lounge  and  laid  her  down.  "  I 
have  not  another  moment,"  he  said,  "  you 
will  let  me  go  now,  like  the  good,  brave 
darling  you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  in  a  faint,  un 
natural  tone.  "  I  '11  let  you  go  now.  Tell 
me  good-by  once  more." 

"  Good-by,  my  darling  wife." 
"  Good-by,   my  darling  husband." 
She  put   her  lips   up,  and   he  pressed  a 
quick  kiss  on  them,  and  was  gone. 

On  the  landing  outside  Mauma  was  sit- 


120 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

ting,  erect  and  repellent,  in  every  line  of 
figure  and  face. 

"  Go  to  your  mistress,  Mauma,"  said 
Leith.  "  I  trust  you  to  look  after  her 
and  take  good  care  of  her." 

"  Yes  —  bress  de  Lord,  I  say  !  "  replied 

Mauma,  with  cold  contempt.       "  It 's  a 

pow  'ful  good   thing  nobody  don'  trus'  you 

—  fur    that     or    nuthin' !       Dee'd    find 

deeselves  mistaken,  ef  dee  did." 

With  a  smile  of  amusement,  the  man 
shook  off  the  sadness  that  had  clung  to 
him,  in  coming  from  that  room,  and  said 
in  a  gay,  though  carefully  lowered  tone  : 

"  You  're  just  the  same  as  ever,  Mauma, 
I  see !  Well,  I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  would  n't 
have  you  changed  for  anything.  I  always 
told  your  mistress  that  you  were  the  one 
woman  I  had  found  it  impossible  to  win  ! 
So,  you  see,  you  have  a  unique  charm  for 
me." 

"  I  hope  to  de  Lord  some  woman  '11 
pay  you  back  fur  what  you  'se  bin  mek 


J2I 


A  New  Thing  Under  the  Sun 

dat  angil-child  suffer,"  was  the  solemn 
response,  "  en  you  mark  my  words  —  de 
day  's  gwine  come  !  " 

With  his  unfailing  instinct  to  escape 
from  what  was  unpleasant,  Leith  hurried 
down  the  stairs,  threw  on  his  coat,  and  let 
himself  out  into  the  street.  As  the  door 
closed  behind  him,  Mauma,  bending  over 
her  little  mistress,  found  that  she  was  in  a 
dead  faint. 

Restoratives  were  used,  and  she  at  last 
recovered  consciousness;  but  that  evening's 
ordeal  was  followed  by  a  long  attack  of 
fever,  in  which  death,  after  promising 
relief  for  a  while,  withdrew  and  left  her 
to  her  life  of  misery. 

"  There  is  one  blessing  in  this  illness," 
Mr.  Manning  said  to  Mrs.  Bryan,  when 
he  called  one  day  to  inquire  for  the  invalid, 
"  she  never  knew  the  day  of  her  divorce. 
Now  she  will  just  recognize  the  fact  that 
it  is  past,  and  that  she  's  no  longer  that 
scoundrel's  wife.  A  more  cold-blooded, 
selfish,  unmitigated  brute  I  never  came 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  The  thirst  which  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  draught  divine  ! ' ' 

"  Most  extraordinary  !  " 

These  words  were  uttered  aloud  by  Mr. 
Black  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  editorial  office, 
engaged  in  the  laborious  work  of  reading 
manuscript.  He  was  a  reserved  man  ;  in 
deed,  he  had  to  be,  for  nothing  but  his  great 
self-possession  and  power  of  concentration 
could  have  enabled  him  to  get  through 
with  the  duties  of  his  position.  With  the 
aid  of  these,  however,  he  did  accomplish 
them  thoroughly  and  systematically,  and 
was  always  deliberate  in  his  manner  — 
rarely  hurried,  and  rarely  excited. 

For  this  reason  it  was  all  the  more  re 
markable  that  such  an  exclamation  as  the 
one  recorded  should  have  escaped  him. 
127 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  The  thirst  which  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  draught  divine  ! ' ' 

"  Most  extraordinary  !  " 

These  words  were  uttered  aloud  by  Mr. 
Black  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  editorial  office, 
engaged  in  the  laborious  work  of  reading 
manuscript.  He  was  a  reserved  man  ;  in 
deed,  he  had  to  be,  for  nothing  but  his  great 
self-possession  and  power  of  concentration 
could  have  enabled  him  to  get  through 
with  the  duties  of  his  position.  With  the 
aid  of  these,  however,  he  did  accomplish 
them  thoroughly  and  systematically,  and 
was  always  deliberate  in  his  manner  — 
rarely  hurried,  and  rarely  excited. 

For  this  reason  it  was  all  the  more  re 
markable  that  such  an  exclamation  as  the 
one  recorded  should  have  escaped  him. 
127 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

His  duties  included  such  an  endless  amount 
of  boredom  that  the  perusal  of  a  manu 
script  which  could  have  had  such  words 
applied  to  it  would  have  been  cause  for 
immense  gratulation  to  him,  had  it  been 
its  merit  which  had  called  forth  such  an 
expression.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
not  this,  but  rather  a  very  extraordinary 
coincidence. 

Mr.  Black  was  possessed  of  a  marvel 
lous  insight  into  the  literary  demands  of 
his  subscribers,  and  it  was  this  insight 
which  had  swelled  his  list  to  its  present  size; 
and  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  manu 
script  now  in  his  hands  would  have  to  be 
refused,  as  he  knew  also  that  the  one  which 
he  had  laid  down  just  before  it  must  share 
the  same  fate.  And  yet  to  himself,  per 
sonally,  both  of  these  manuscripts  had  been 
of  deep  and  peculiar  interest. 

The    first    was   written    in    a  woman's 

hand,  and  was  signed  "  Ethel   Ross,"  and, 

in  the  note  that  had  accompanied  it,  Miss 

Ethel  Ross  had  given  her  address  in  a  cer- 

128 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

tain  small  and  obscure  town.  This  note, 
as  well  as  the  manuscript  itself,  had  a  cer 
tain  na'ivetd  about  it  which  gave  Mr.  Black 
some  insight  into  the  writer.  The  free 
dom  with  which  the  note  was  written  was 
of  a  piece  with  the  freedom  with  which 
the  manuscript  was  written,  and  Mr.  Black 
felt  pretty  sure  that  both  of  them  were 
under  the  protection  of  a  nom  de  guerre. 
The  young  lady  calling  herself  Miss 
Ethel  Ross  had  taken  him  into  her  confi 
dence  in  the  amusing  way  in  which  a  con 
tributor  so  often  confides  in  an  unknown 
editor.  Mr.  Black,  however,  was  a  very 
human-hearted  editor,  and  he  never  ob 
jected  to  these  confidences,  and  even  did 
what  he  could  to  give  a  friendly  word  of 
response  to  the  writers,  independent  of  his 
judgment  of  the  manuscript. 

In  this  instance  the  writer  had  acknowl 
edged  the  fact  that  this  was  her  first  manu 
script,  and  had  added  that  it  would  prob 
ably  be  her  last !  She  had  always  heard, 
she  went  on  to  say,  that  everybody  had 
129 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

one  story  in  them,  and,  if  that  saying  were 
true,  this  was  her  story.  She  had  never 
thought  of  writing  for  publication  before, 
she  said,  but  for  certain  reasons  she  had 
suddenly  concluded  to  make  the  effort, 
and  the  accompanying  manuscript  was  the 
result. 

With  these  data  to  go  upon,  Mr.  Black, 
who  was  a  keen  student  of  human  nature, 
had  seen  the  whole  thing  as  plain  as  a  pic 
ture  before  his  eyes,  even  to  the  under 
standing  of  the  "  certain  reasons."  He 
felt  sure  that  the  need  of  money  had  been 
the  reason  —  a  motif  for  literary  effort 
known  to  him  all  too  well.  There  was  no 
indication  in  either  the  letter  or  the  manu 
script  of  even  the  faintest  stirring  of  the 
divine  afflatus  of  literary  creation.  There 
was  no  hint  of  any  desire  for  fame.  It 
was  distinctly,  and  he  felt  sure,  honestly, 
owned,  that  the  writer  had  emptied  her 
self  in  this  story,  and  would  be  incapable 
of  doing  anything  further.  Of  all  the  in 
centives  to  writing  known  to  him,  the 
130 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

need  of  money  was  the  only  one  that  fitted 
this  case.  And  how  powerful  must  that 
need  have  been  to  have  caused  a  woman 
to  write  her  heart  out,  as  this  woman  had 
done  here. 

The  story,  if  it  could  be  called  a  story, 
was  absolutely  without  literary  form,  and 
so  unfinished  in  style  that  no  magazine 
could  have  ventured  to  print  it.  And  yet 
there  breathed  through  it  such  an  exquisite 
soul  of  sweetness,  such  a  spirit  of  refine 
ment,  purity,  innocence,  aspiration  and 
charm,  that  Mr.  Black  was  tempted  to 
ask  her  to  re-cast  the  manuscript,  leave 
out  the  poor  attempt  at  plot,  and  let  the 
subtle  self-analysis  appear  in  the  form  of 
entries  in  a  journal,  or  letters,  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort.  There  were  two  rea 
sons  against  this,  though — one  was,  that 
he  felt  that  the  girl  would  have  been  in 
capable  of  doing  what  he  wanted,  and 
would  simply  have  made  a  mess  of  it ;  and 
the  other  was,  that  he  positively  shrank 
from  exposing  to  public  view  the  secrets 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

of  the  heart  of  this  young  girl.  For  the 
keynote  of  this  poor  story  of  hers  was  the 
aspiration  of  a  young,  innocent,  and  ardent 
woman  after  love.  What  it  described  was 
the  hardships  of  a  lot  keenly  interpene 
trated  with  pain,  full  of  privation  of  body 
and  soul,  obscured  by  perplexities  and  diffi 
culties  on  every  side,  and  yet  sweetened, 
illuminated,  glorified,  by  the  possibility  of 
the  attainment  of  the  supreme  good,  which, 
to  this  being,  at  least,  was  to  be  found  only 
in  love.  Here  was  a  creature,  if  ever 
words  painted  truth,  whose  waiting  heart 
was  kept  both  strong  and  pure  by  the  sancti- 
fication  of  that  hope.  The  manuscript 
proved  beyond  a  doubt,  that,  though  she 
could  not  write,  she  could  love  ! 

Mr.  Black  had  laid  it  down,  with  ten 
derness  and  regret,  and  had  rather  sadly 
gone  about  the  task  of  writing  her  a  note 
to  be  sent  with  the  returned  manuscript. 
He  had  had  to  harden  his  heart  to  this 
sort  of  thing  so  often,  that  he  did  not 
flinch  from  the  plain  duty  before  him,  and 
132 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

he  would  not  lead  this  girl  to  believe  that 
she  could  ever  write.  What  he  felt  like 
telling  her  was,  that  he  found  himself  posi 
tively  grateful  to  her  for  the  self-revelation 
of  so  pure  a  heart  and  so  strong  a  spirit. 
This,  of  course,  he  was  not  at  liberty  to 
express ;  but  he  said  what  he  could  to 
soften  the  blow  to  her,  and  he  put  aside 
to  be  returned  to  the  author  the  manu 
script,  which  was  beautifully  written  (on 
both  sides  of  the  paper,  however,)  and  tied 
with  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon. 

Then  he  took  up  the  next  manuscript, 
and,  to  his  relief,  found  it  to  be  in  a  man's 
handwriting.  It  would  help  him,  he  hoped, 
to  efface  the  impression  which  its  prede 
cessor  had  made  on  him.  This  strong  and 
vigorous  writing  was  unknown  to  him  also, 
and  Mr.  Black  began  to  read,  with  that 
stirring  of  possibilities  which  rises  in  the 
jaded  mind  of  the  editor  at  the  sight  of  the 
work  of  a  perfectly  new  contributor,  and 
which  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred 
ends  in  disappointment. 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

This  case  proved  not  to  be  the  excep 
tional  one,  for  this  manuscript  possessed 
the  same  faults  of  inexperience  and  lack  of 
literary  form  as  the  last  one.  The  letter 
that  accompanied  it  furnished  a  further 
coincidence,  in  the  fact  that  it  acknowl 
edged  the  use  of  a  nom  de  guerre,  and  that 
the  present  was  the  the  first  effort  of  the 
writer,  who,  for  certain  reasons,  had  been 
impelled  to  write  this  one  story,  and  would 
probably  never  write  another.  The 
motive,  however,  in  this  case,  must  have 
been  a  different  one ;  for  this  man,  who 
call  himself  Hugh  Robertson,  said  that  he 
did  n't  think  his  story  worth  paying  for; 
(This  made  Mr.  Black  smile.  Could  it 
then  be  worth  publishing  ? )  but  he  would 
like  to  have  it  come  out  in  this  magazine, 
because  its  circulation  was  so  large  that, 
in  that  way,  it  would  reach  a  great  num 
ber  of  readers. 

And  what,  then,  was  the  message  for 
which  this  Hugh  Robertson  desired  such 
a  wide  audience  ?  Mr.  Black  read  the 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

manuscript  attentively,  and  then,  after  a 
brief  study  of  the  man,  as  his  character 
was  indicated  in  his  note  and  his  hand 
writing,  he  constructed  his  theory  of  the 
case.  Here  was  a  man, strong,  able,  suc 
cessful,  surrounded  by  conditions  of  pros 
perity  and  ease  which  flatly  contradicted 
the  case  of  Ethel  Ross  —  and  yet  the 
key-note  to  this  soul,  too,  was  the  all- 
powerful  one  of  love.  Between  the  two 
there  was  a  difference,  however,  for  the 
woman's  heart  was  attuned  to  aspiration 
and  the  man's  to  renunciation.  The  mes 
sage  from  the  woman's  heart  was  that 
every  trial  and  earthly  evil  could  be  borne 
without  complaint,  so  long  as  there  re 
mained  the  possibility  of  the  fulfilment  of 
ideal  love.  The  message  from  the  man's 
heart  was  that  the  fulfilment  of  ideal  love 
was  so  well-nigh  impossible  a  thing 
(though  every  other  fulfilment  which  the 
world  could  give  was  scant  joy  in  com 
parison  with  it),  that  it  behooved  one  to 
learn  earnestly  the  lesson  of  resignation 
135 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

without  cynicism.  The  man's  voice  was 
the  stronger  of  the  two,  and  his  message 
was  the  nobler,  but  then  there  was  every 
indication  of  its  being  the  outcome  of  a 
maturer  mind. 

It  had  been  as  Mr.  Black  laid  down  the 
second  manuscript  that  he  had  uttered  the 
exclamation  already  recorded,  and  the 
thing  that  struck  him  as  so  very  extraor 
dinary  was  the  subtle  sort  of  answering  to 
each  other's  needs  which  these  two  man 
uscripts  conveyed  to  his  mind.  The 
man's  was  as  obviously  a  self-revelation 
as  the  woman's;  and  the  perspicacious 
editor  shrewdly  suspected  him  of  being  a 
very  shy  man,  who  would  not  have  been 
able  to  express  himself  fully  and  freely  in 
his  own  person,  and  who  had  therefore 
sought  this  means  of  saying  what  he  had 
to  say  to  as  large  an  audience  as  he  could 
reach.  Mr.  Black  could  not  quite  explain 
why  he  felt  it  so,  but,  in  reality,  he  was 
convinced  that  this  was  a  man  of  influence 
and  importance,  who  lived  a  life  of  active 
136 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

labor,  in  which  he  was  able  to  express 
himself  objectively,  but  who  was  now,  for 
the  first  time,  giving  his  soul  a  subjective 
expression  in  this  manuscript.  The  ad 
dress  given  by  Hugh  Robertson  was  in  a 
great  and  populous  city.  It  was  also  in  a 
locality  not  very  far  away  from  the  little 
town  from  which  Ethel  Ross  had  dated 
her  letter.  Mr.  Black  reflected  on  this 
fact  rather  wistfully.  He  wished  that  this 
man  and  this  woman  could  meet.  He 
could  hardly  have  been  the  judge  of  fiction 
that  he  was,  without  a  certain  amount  of 
romance  in  him;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  had  an  equal  amount  of  common  sense, 
and  he  saw  that  the  obvious  and  practical 
duty  of  the  present  moment  was  to  guard 
the  confidence  of  his  contributors  in  the 
discharge  of  his  functions  as  editor. 

So  he  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  toward 
him,  and  wrote  his  letter  to  Hugh  Rob 
ertson.  It  was  much  shorter  and  more 
restrained  than  the  former  one,  for  no  one 
could  fail  to  recognize  in  this  man  a  per- 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

son  quite  able  to  stand  on  his  own  feet, 
and  yet  Mr.  Black  felt  conscious  of  a  re 
gret  in  this  instance,  too.  A  man  so 
strongly  capable  of  renouncing  seemed  to 
him  the  very  man  who  deserved  to  pos 
sess. 

Before  he  had  quite  finished,  he  was 
interrupted  by  a  pressing  business  demand, 
so  he  thrust  both  the  finished  and  unfin 
ished  letters  into  the  drawer  of  his  desk, 
together  with  the  letters  to  which  they 
were  the  answers.  Before  he  left  the 
room,  he  called  one  of  his  assistants  and 
delivered  to  him  the  two  manuscripts,  to 
be  put  up  for  return,  and  giving  the  ad 
dresses,  told  the  clerk  to  send  on  the 
manuscripts,  and  he  would  forward,  later 
in  the  day,  his  letters  to  the  two  authors. 

He  hurried  away  from  the  room  then, 
and  the  clerk  took  the  two  manuscripts 
into  the  outer  office,  put  them  up  with 
great  precision  and  care,  and  in  all  uncon 
sciousness  sent  Hugh  Robertson's  manu 
script  to  Ethel  Ross,  and  Ethel  Ross's 
138 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

manuscript  to  Hugh  Robertson.  He  had 
understood  Mr.  Black's  very  explicit  direc 
tions,  but,  in  putting  up  and  sealing  the 
two  parcels,  he  had  mixed  them. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Miss 
Ethel  Ross — whose  real  name,  in  full, 
was  Ethel  Ross  Duncan — went  on  her 
daily  mission  to  the  little  postoffice  of  the 
small  country  town,  she  received  one  day, 
not  the  envelope  containing  a  check, 
for  which  she  so  mightily  longed,  but 
a  bulky  package,  which  made  her  very 
young  and  ardent  heart  sink  low  within 
her.  She  really  had  not  expected  to  have 
her  story  returned.  It  had  seemed  to  her, 
as  she  had  written  it  with  breathless  agita 
tion,  in  stolen  moments,  alone  in  her 
chamber  at  night,  so  palpitatingly  inter 
esting,  that,  as  she  had  ended  it,  she  had 
felt  a  positive  certainty  of  seeing  those 
thrilling  words  turned  into  print,  and  of 
having,  in  exchange  for  it,  a  check  which 
should  be  large  enough  for  her  to  carry 
out  a  passionate  desire  of  her  heart. 
i39 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  could 
repress  her  tears  as  she  took  the  package, 
which  had  suddenly  become  so  stale  and 
poor  and  worthless  a  thing,  and  walked 
homeward  with  it. 

It  could  hardly  be  called  a  home  to 
which  she  was  going  back,  for  she  had 
neither  father  nor  mother  to  give  that 
sacred  character  to  the  shabby  little  house 
she  now  approached.  But  this  house 
contained,  all  the  same,  the  being  who 
was  at  once  the  source  of  the  sweetest 
pleasure  and  the  keenest  pain  in  her  young 
life.  This  was  her  little  brother,  who, 
long  ago,  had  had  an  injury  from  a  fall, 
and  who  had  been  an  invalid  and  a  cripple 
ever  since.  The  whole  responsibility  of 
his  care,  as  well  as  his  support,  was  upon 
Ethel,  and  she  had  been  able  to  discharge 
it  by  means  of  a  position  in  the  village 
school,  which  paid  her  just  enough  for  the 
bare  living  of  the  two.  For  years  her 
brother's  case  had  been  considered  hope 
less,  and  the  local  doctor,  saying  he 
140 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

could  do  no  good,  had  not  kept  up  his  visits. 
Lately,  however,  Ethel  had  heard  of  won 
derful  things  achieved  by  a  distinguished 
surgeon  in  a  great  city  not  far  away,  and 
it  had  now  became  an  ardent  hope  in  her 
heart  to  take  little  Bob  there.  She  con 
fided  this  wish  to  the  woman  with  whom 
they  boarded,  but  the  rural  mind  is  slow 
to  catch  enthusiasm,  and  she  had  only  re 
sponded  by  saying  that  it  would  take  more 
money  than  ever  she  could  scrape  together. 
Ethel  had  managed  to  save  a  little  by 
great  economy,  and  she  calculated  that 
this  would  cover  the  traveling  expenses, 
if  only  she  could  get  from  somewhere 
enough  to  pay  the  doctor. 

This  had  been  the  spur  that  had  led  her 
to  make  that  desperate  effort  with  the 
story,  and  to  lay  bare  the  deepest  and 
most  sacred  feelings  of  her  heart.  She 
was  a  very  reserved  girl,  and  she  never 
could  have  done  it,  but  for  the  safety  of 
distance,  and  the  protection  of  a  name  that 
was  not  her  own. 

141 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Well,  she  had  done  it,  and  done  it  con 
scientiously.  She  had  "  dipped  her  pen 
in  herself"  and  written  out  of  her  own 
heart,  and  this  was  the  result  —  to  have 
the  record  of  her  soul-life  returned  with 
thanks,  or  perhaps  without  them.  She 
felt  no  interest  in  opening  the  packet,  and 
went  and  thrust  it  out  of  sight  in  the  back 
of  a  drawer  in  her  own  room  as  soon  as 
she  reached  the  house.  Bob  was  in  pain, 
and  he  called  to  her  crossly,  and  com 
plained  because  she  had  left  him.  He 
was  often  impatient  with  her,  and  she  gen 
erally  bore  it  sweetly ;  but  to-day  it  cut 
and  irritated  her. 

She  said  nothing,  however,  as  she  took 
off  her  hat  and  came  to  the  side  of  the 
couch  where  he  was  lying.  The  child 
looked  up  and  saw  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
his  face  and  tone  grew  more  resentful 
still. 

"  What  are  you  crying  about  ? "  he 
said.  "  What  business  have  you  to  cry, 
when  you  are  well  and  strong,  and  you  can 
142 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

walk  and  run  and  go  about  wherever  you 
please,  and  never  have  an  ache  or  a  pain  ? 
And  then  you  have  the  ccheek'  to  tell  me 
to  be  brave,  and  to  bear  my  pain,  and  not 
to  cry  !  " 

"O  Bobby,  you  are  right!"  she  said. 
"I  ought  not  to  cry  and  be  a  coward,  and 
I  am  ashamed  of  it ;  but  something  has 
happened  that  has  disappointed  me  so 
dreadfully.  However,  I  '11  try  to  be  brave 
about  it,  and  remember  the  lessons  I  have 
tried  to  teach  to  you.  I  wish  I  could 
help  you  —  poor  little  Bob  !  It  is  awful, 
awful,  to  have  to  suffer  all  the  time  as  you 
do  j  but,  at  least,  you  do  n't  suffer  in  your 
mind — do  you?  You  know  I  always 
take  care  of  you  and  make  you  as  com 
fortable  as  I  can.  Tell  me  that,  Bobby, 
for  it  comforts  me  more  than  anything  in 
the  world  to  think  of  that." 

"  Of  course,  I  know  you  will  take  care 
of  me,"  said  the  child  ;  "  but  is  nobody 
ever  going  to  do  anything  to  make  me  any 
better  ?  Am  I  going  to  lie  and  suffer  all 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

my  life,  and  never  be  strong  and  well  like 
other  boys  ?  " 

"  O  Bobby,  I  do  n't  know  !  I  do  n't 
know  !  "  said  the  poor  girl,  remembering, 
with  a  pang,  the  failure  of  the  only  effort 
it  had  been  in  her  power  to  make. "  I  want 
to  take  you  to  the  city  to  see  that  great 
doctor,  for  I  think  he  might  be  able  to 
help  you.  I  will  do  it,  if  I  ever  can,  but 
poor  sister  can  do  so  little  to  make 
money,  and  it  takes  money  to  do  a  thing 
like  that." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 
certain  change  in  his  tone.  "When  I  was 
little,  I  used  to  think  I  'd  make  money  for 
you.  I  used  to  say  you  were  too  pretty 
to  work,  and  that  I  would  work  for  you. 
When  Mother  died  and  the  pension  stop 
ped,  I  thought  if  you  'd  work  for  me  a  little 
while,  I  'd  soon  be  able  to  work  for  you, 
and  I  would  have  done  it,  if  I  had  not  had 
that  fall.  Oh,  why  did  n't  it  kill  me  at 
once  !  I  wish  it  had  !  " 

"  No,  my  Bobby,  no  !  "  said  Ethel, 
144 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

bending  over  him  and  drawing  his  arm 
around  her  neck.  "  If  you  had  died,  poor 
sister  would  have  had  no  one  in  the  world 
to  love ;  and  that  would  be  the  worst 
thing  that  could  happen  to  anybody." 

"  It 's  not  so  bad  as  being  lame,"  said 
the  boy. 

"  O  Bobby,  I  think  it 's  worse  !  "  said 
Ethel,  half  involuntarily. 

"  Then  it  shows  how  much  you  know 
about  it !  "  said  Bobby ;  and  Ethel  made 
haste  to  soothe  and  reassure  him,  and  tell 
him  how  much  she  sympathized  with  his 
trouble,  and  stifled  back  the  wish  that  he, 
or  somebody,  could  sympathize  with  hers. 

When  night  came  at  last,  and  the  child 
had  gone  to  sleep,  and  Ethel  was  alone  in 
her  little  room  that  opened  into  his,  she 
softly  closed  the  door  between  them,  and 
gave  herself  up  to  the  luxury  of  a  good 
cry.  It  was  one  of  the  few  luxuries 
within  her  reach;  she  did  not  often  in 
dulge  herself  in  this,  but  to-night  she  felt 
she  must.  It  was  this  craving  for  sym- 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

pathy  which  brought  it  on  her  —  the  pas 
sionate  wish  that  somebody  understood 
her  and  was  aware  of  the  struggle  she 
made  continually,  by  day  and  by  night,  to 
still  the  craving  of  her  heart  for  love.  She 
loved  Bobby,  but  he  was  an  unceasing 
care  to  her,  and  she  wanted  somebody  to 
care  for  her,  as  she  cared  for  him.  If  she 
had,  how  ardently  grateful  would  she  be 
for  such  care  and  protection  —  and  how 
little  he  seemed  to  respond  to  or  appreciate 
it !  Of  course,  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
of  a  crippled  boy,  continually  preoccupied 
by  pain,  and,  as  a  rule,  she  never  thought 
of  expecting  it.  But  to-night  she  felt  that 
need  of  being  understood  swelling  up 
within  her  so  passionately,  that  it  seemed 
almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 

When  she  had  cried  until  there  seemed 
to  be  no  more  tears  left  to  shed,  she  got 
up  and  went  to  the  old  dressing-table 
to  prepare  for  bed.  She  looked  at  herself, 
half  bitterly,  as  she  realized  how  useless 
all  those  foolish  tears  had  been.  She 
146 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

might  as  well  make  up  her  mind  that  her 
lot  in  life  was  to  be  drudgery  and  disap 
pointment,  and  that  no  one  would  ever 
really  understand  her  or  enter  into  the 
feelings  of  her  heart. 

She  pulled  open  a  drawer  to  get  some 
thing  out,  and  as  she  did  so  she  remem 
bered  the  manuscript.  She  took  it  out 
and  looked  at  the  cold,  unsympathetic 
typewriting  on  the  back.  It  was  foolish 
of  her  to  shrink  from  opening  it,  and  she 
would  compel  herself  to  look  once  more  at 
those  poor  pages  which  she  had  written 
with  such  heart  throbbings,  and  sent  off 
with  such  hopes. 

Running  a  hairpin  along  the  edge  of  the 
sealed  envelope,  she  cut  it  open  and  drew 
the  contents  out.  How  was  this  ?  They 
looked  unfamiliar.  There  was  no  binding 
with  blue  ribbons,  no  delicate  woman- 
writing.  Instead,  she  held  in  her  hands  a 
number  of  loose  sheets  covered  with  the 
strong,  distinct,  nervous  characters  of  a 
man's  hand.  The  title  of  this  manuscript 
H7 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

was  The  Draught  Divine.  The  title  of 
hers  had  been  The  Soul-  Thirst.  The  cap 
tion  under  the  title  was  exactly  the  one 
that  she  had  put  under  hers  : 

"The  thirst  which  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  draught  divine." 

But  for  this  coincidence  she  would 
probably  have  suspected  some  mistake  at 
the  editorial  office  and  put  the  manuscript 
by ;  but  after  seeing  this,  she  felt  that  she 
must  read  it. 

And  so,  standing  fascinated  where  she 
was,  she  turned  leaf  after  leaf,  and  read 
breathlessly  on.  As  she  did  so,  the  old 
mirror  opposite  reflected  a  picture  whose 
glowing  beauty  deepened  every  minute. 
Here,  the  divine  draught  of  love  was  so 
strongly  analyzed,  its  component  parts  so 
comprehendingly  described,  and  its  power 
ful  effects  so  brilliantly  demonstrated,  that 
the  paper  had  almost  the  character  of  a 
scientific  treatise.  The  subject,  she  felt, 
could  scarcely  have  been  handled  in  this 
deliberate  way  but  for  the  very  fact  that 
148 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

the  writer  was  in  an  attitude,  not  of  antici 
pation,  but  of  renunciation.  It  mattered 
little  to  Ethel  that  the  plot  of  this  story 
was  ill-constructed  and  illogical,  and  the 
situations  commonplace  and  trite.  What 
she  saw  before  her  on  these  sheets,  and 
felt  permeating  every  corner  of  her  soul, 
was  the  renunciation  of  all  the  ideal  con 
ditions  of  living  and  loving  that  her  heart 
aspired  to.  What  this  man  gave  up  was 
what  she  had  always  so  resolutely  claimed 
— what  she  had  never  wavered  in  demand 
ing  and  expecting  of  life,  until  this  very 
evening,  when,  for  the  first  time,  she  had 
looked  in  the  face  of  possible  renunciation. 
But  with  the  reading  of  this  paper  she 
shifted  back  to  her  old  ground,  for  here, 
at  least,  she  felt  herself  comprehended  at 
last.  Not  one  of  all  the  people  with 
whom  her  lot  had  hitherto  been  cast  had 
ever  uttered  thoughts  and  feelings  such  as 
these ;  but  here,  in  this  manuscript,  were 
the  very  echoes  of  her  own  soul.  Yes,  all 
of  them  —  the  loud,  sonorous,  reverber- 
M9 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

ating  ones,  no  less  than  the  delicate  sound 
ings  of  her  finest  needs.  She  looked  at 
the  signature  at  the  end,  and  saw  the 
words,  "Hugh  Robertson."  This  gave  an 
individual  character  to  the  consciousness 
that  had  just  entered  into  her,  and  the  mere 
knowledge  of  the  existence  of  such  a  per 
sonality  in  the  world  was  a  stimulating 
and  an  exhilarating  thought  that  made  her 
smile. 

As  she  did  so,  she  looked  up  and  caught 
the  reflection  of  herself  in  the  mirror 
before  her.  Happiness,  the  supreme 
beautifier,  had  swiftly  done  its  wonder 
work,  and  she  could  not  fail  to  realise 
that  she  was  very  fair  to  see.  The 
knowledge  of  it  gave  her  pleasure.  The 
power  of  enjoyment,  lately  so  stultified 
and  depressed,  returned  to  her  with  a 
glowing  ardor.  All  the  world  began  sud- 

DO  C> 

denly    to  look    more    hopeful.      Ah,   life 

was   sweet,  its   opportunities    were    great 

and  precious,  its  possibilities  were  divine  ! 

As  these   thoughts   darted  through  her 

150 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

mind  and  illuminated  her  beautiful  face 
there  came  a  sudden  recollection  which 
checked  the  first  and  clouded  the  second — 
the  thought  of  Bob  with  his  sad  burden 
of  pain  and  helplessness.  Oh,  how  dread 
ful  that  such  things  could  be !  Could  n't 
it  be  helped  ?  she  wondered.  Could  n't 
something  be  done  ?  Somehow,  a  new 
power  seemed  to  have  come  into  her  —  a 
power  of  initiative  and  action,  such  as  she 
had  never  felt  before.  She  suddenly  de 
termined  that  she  would  write  to  the  great 
doctor,  of  whose  skill  she  had  heard  so 
much,  and  ask  him  if  he  would  examine 
Bob  if  she  brought  him  on,  and  tell  her 
what  could  be  done.  The  incentive  was  so 
strong  that  she  got  her  desk  and  wrote  the 
letter  at  once,  explaining  that  she  had  no 
money  now,  except  enough  for  the  bare 
expenses  of  the  trip,  but  adding  that,  if 
treatment  could  be  had  for  Bob  at  a  mod 
erate  cost,  she  might  hope  to  save  the 
money  for  it,  if  she  could  pay  a  little  at  a 
time. 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

She  finished  the  letter,  and  addressed  it 
in  her  delicate,  characteristic  hand  to  Dr. 
Arthur  H.  Hubert,  but  there  she  had  to 
stop.  It  would  be  necessary  to  wait  until 
she  could  get  his  address. 

Ethel  waked  next  morning  with  a  feel 
ing  of  renewed  youth,  for  which  she 
could  not  account,  until  she  recollected 
the  manuscript,  which,  in  her  ardent  way, 
she  had  slipped  under  her  pillow,  before 
going  to  sleep.  Perhaps  it  was  to  that 
cause  that  she  was  indebted  for  some  very 
sweet  and  joy-giving  dreams,  in  which  she 
had  lived  in  such  a  rose-colored  world 
that,  even  in  returning  to  the  sombreness 
of  the  actual  one,  she  brought  with  her  a 
portion  of  that  lovely  hue. 

To-day's  mail  brought  her  Mr.  Black's 
letter,  and  made  it  perfectly  clear  that  this 
manuscript  had  been  sent  her  by  mistake, 
instead  of  her  own.  The  kind  words  in 
the  letter  helped  and  strengthened  her,  and 
the  reading  of  the  manuscript  had  given 
her  such  joy  that  she  felt  the  sting  of  the 
152 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

failure  of  her  own  half  obliterated.  She 
sat  down  and  wrote  to  Mr.  Black,  telling 
him  of  the  mistake,  and  asking  him  to 
give  her  the  address  of  Hugh  Robertson, 
so  that  she  might  send  his  manuscript  to 
him  and  ask  for  her  own  back,  if  he 
should,  as  she  supposed,  have  received 
hers.  She  knew  that  the  more  regular 
way  would  be  to  send  the  manuscript 
back  to  Mr.  Black ;  but  the  fact  was,  she 
hated  to  part  with  it,  and  she  resorted  to 
this  means  of  keeping  it  a  little  longer. 
She  was  too  refined  a  girl  to  have  any  idea 
of  getting  up  an  acquaintance  with  the 
writer  of  the  story  in  this  way,  and  it 
would  never  have  occurred  to  her  to  do 
more  than  let  him  know  that  she  had 
read  it.  That,  she  thought,  she  might  do, 
though  she  did  not  mention  the  fact  to 
Mr.  Black. 

Immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  her 
letter  Mr.  Black  wrote  and  asked  that  the 
manuscript  might  be  returned  to  him, 
apologizing  for  the  mistake.  He  said  the 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

addresses  of  his  contributors  were  a  matter 
of  professional  confidence,  and  he  felt 
bound,  therefore,  to  return  the  manuscript 
himself.  He  made  many  apologies  for 
having  also,  through  a  fault  in  his  office, 
sent  her  manuscript  to  Hugh  Robertson, 
and  added  that  he  had  just  received  from 
that  gentleman  a  request  for  her  address, 
to  which  he  had  replied  in  the  same  terms 
as  those  of  his  letter  to  her.  As  soon  as 
he  received  her  manuscript  he  would  for 
ward  it  to  her,  he  said. 

What  he  did  not  say,  however,  was, 
that  the  clerk  who  had  made  the  mistake 
had  been  let  off  with  a  lighter  reprimand 
than  was  usual  with  Mr.  Black,  who 
somehow  felt  that  if  he  said  too  much  he 
might  be  tampering  with  the  designs  of 
Providence. 

Dr.  Hubert  sat  alone  in  his  office  open 
ing  his  mail  —  a  great  pile  of  letters  and 
papers  and  medical  journals,  relative 
chiefly  to  his  practice  and  the  work 
ing  of  his  hospital.  Many  of  the  people 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

who  wrote  to  the  celebrated  surgeon  from 
a  distance  were  much  surprised,  when  they 
came  to  see  him,  to  find  him  so  young  a 
man.  The  great  success  of  his  surgical 
practice  had  brought  him  almost  suddenly 
into  notice  and  prominence,  and  now, 
although  he  was  under  forty,  he  had  a 
well-established  and  very  successful  hospi 
tal  of  his  own.  He  was  unmarried, 
despite  the  fact  of  such  decided  personal 
attractions  as  made  him  almost  an  idol 
with  the  ladies  ;  and  the  current  belief  was, 
that  he  had  been  "disappointed  in  love." 
Although  this  fact  was  generally  accepted, 
no  one  had  ever  been  able  to  identify  the 
object  of  this  theory.  If  the  more  inti 
mate  of  his  friends  and  patients  ventured 
to  question  him  on  this  point,  he  would 
laughingly  defy  them  to  point  out  the  lady  ; 
but,  confident  as  he  was  of  their  inability 
to  do  this,  he  acknowledged,  to  his  own 
heart,  at  least,  that  it  was  literally  true  that 
he  had  been  "disappointed  in  love."  That 
was  exactly  it.  No  loved  woman  had 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

ever  disappointed  him,  but  his  feelings 
came  from  the  fact  that  love  itself  had 
disappointed  him ;  and  the  little  god, 
though  long  expected  and  looked  for,  had 
resolutely  turned  his  back  and  looked  the 
other  way.  So  now,  at  last,  Dr.  Hubert 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  independent 
of  Cupid ;  and  having  spent  much  of  his 
force  in  restless  watching  and  wooing  of 
him,  he  had  determined  to  secure  a  greater 
power  of  concentration  in  his  profession 
by  bidding  him  farewell.  He  was  essen 
tially  a  deliberate  and  methodical  man, 
however  j  and  as  it  was  his  habit  to  study 
and  investigate  every  theory  and  practice 
of  medicine  and  surgery  before  he  either 
accepted  or  rejected  it,  and  even  to  formu 
late  his  grounds  of  action  in  writing,  he 
had  written  out  his  theory  of  love,  and 
formulated  to  himself  the  grounds  of  his 
rejection  of  it.  The  chief  reason  for  this 
rejection  was  the  difficulty,  if  not  the  im 
possibility,  of  realizing  his  ideal.  Dr. 
Hubert  was  an  intensely  energetic  man, 
156 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

and  the  great  secret  of  his  success  had 
been  in  his  excellent  discrimination  between 
the  attainable  and  unattainable.  So  in 
his  profession  he  left  the  province  of  ab 
stract  and  experimental  theories  to  less 
active  men,  and  only  worked  along  the 
lines  that  gave  promise  of  definite  results. 
He  was  very  ambitious  in  his  profession, 
and  he  knew  that  he  had  so  long  served  it 
with  a  divided  heart,  that  he  now  proposed 
to  do  in  the  matter  of  love  what  he  had 
done  in  all  other  departments,  and  give  up 
a  search  for  what  plainly  appeared  to  be 
the  unattainable. 

Accordingly,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to 
make  the  matter  more  impersonal  by  writ 
ing  his  thesis  on  renunciation  in  the  form 
of  a  story,  and,  having  written  it,  to 
publish  it  under  a  nom  de  guerre,  and  send 
it  to  a  journal  with  a  large  circulation. 
He  was  accustomed  to  having  his  papers 
considered  important,  and  he  had  never 
written  one  that  appeared  to  him  more  so 
than  this.  Moreover,  he  had  an  absolute 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

o 

horror  of  wasted  force  in  any  depart 
ment,  and  he  wanted  this  paper  to  be 
widely  read.  The  message  which  he  de 
livered  in  it  was  a  warning  to  men,  and 
women  too,  not  to  spend  their  best  ener 
gies  in  a  restless  seeking  after  love,  but, 
rather,  after  a  reasonable  amount  of  time 
and  force  had  been  put  into  the  quest,  to 
make  a  strong  act  of  renunciation,  and  to 
have  their  faculties  unimpeded  for  what 
ever  work  they  could  find  to  do. 

This  was  the  story  which  he  had  sent 
to  Mr.  Black's  magazine,  and  which,  with 
Mr.  Black's  usual  admirable  promptness, 
had  been  returned  to  him,  as  he  supposed. 
But,  lo  !  upon  opening  the  envelope  he  had 
found  another  manuscript,  written  in  the 
beautiful  handwriting  of  a  refined  woman, 
tied  with  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  and  having 
a  title  strongly  allied  to  his  own,  and  a 
sub-title  that  was  identical. 

Of  course  he  read  the  manuscript.     He 
began  it  with  interest,  which  increased  to 
eagerness,  and  ended  in  avidity.    Whoever 
158 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Ethel  Ross  might  be,  she  had  a  soul  that 
answered  his ;  a  heart  that  gave  back  to 
his  heart,  throb  for  throb.  He  had  dashed 
off  a  note  to  Mr.  Black,  asking  for  her 
address,  that  he  might  return  the  manu 
script  to  its  author,  and  Mr.  Black  had 
sent  him,  by  this  post,  the  letter  in  which 
he  had  declined  to  give  the  address,  and 
had  asked  that  the  manuscript  might  be 
returned  to  him. 

This  was  the  letter  which  Dr.  Hubert 
had  singled  out  of  the  pile  before  him, 
recognizing  it  by  the  name  of  the  magazine 
printed  in  the  corner,  and  pushing  all  his 
other  mail  aside. 

He  read  the  letter  twice,  with  a  look  of 
distinct  disappointment  on  his  face,  but 
mingled  with  it  there  was  a  look  of  strong 
determination.  He  was  in  the  habit  of 
overcoming  difficulties,  and  he  did  not 
purpose  to  let  himself  be  conquered  here. 
He  put  Mr.  Black's  communication  in  a 
drawer,  and  drew  the  remainder  of  his  let 
ters  toward  him. 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

He  read  them  rapidly  through,  putting 
them  by  to  be  answered  by  his  stenographer 
in  the  evening,  until  he  came  to  the  one  at 
the  bottom  of  the  pile.  When  he  saw 
the  address  on  this  letter,  he  started.  All 
the  rest  he  had  read  with  business-like 
composure, but  now  his  face  actually  flushed. 
The  handwriting  looked  familiar  ;  its  char 
acter  was  peculiar,  and  he  had  seen  it 
before  —  he  knew  where. 

He  hastily  cut  it  open  and  turned  to  the 
signature.  It  was  "  Ethel  R.  Duncan." 
What  could  it  mean  ?  Had  she,  perchance, 
read  his  manuscript,  too,  and  more  success 
ful  than  he,  obtained  his  address  and  writ 
ten  to  him  ?  These  questions  were  soon 
answered  by  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

He  found  himself  addressed  simply  in 
his  capacity  as  physician,  and  the  whole 
tone  of  the  letter  was  that  of  a  young 
person  speaking  to  an  elder.  This  grated 
on  him  a  little,  but  it  was  a  mere  detail, 
and  the  main  point  was,  that  he  found  the 
coveted  opportunity,  which  he  had  been 
1 60 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

prepared  to  do  much  to  win,  just  within 
his  grasp. 

He  held  the  letter  in  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  then  opening  a  drawer,  and  taking  out 
the  manuscript  eagerly,  identified  the  writ 
ing.  There  could  not  be  a  shadow  of  a 
doubt.  This  letter  proposed  to  give  him 
immediately  the  power  to  make  her  ac 
quaintance,  by  coming  on  to  his  hospital 
at  once,  and  bringing  her  little  brother  to 
him  for  treatment.  This  was  her  wish 
and  design,  provided  the  very  scanty  means 
which  she  acknowledged  should  not  be  an 
obstacle.  One  point  that  she  made,  was 
the  necessity  for  immediate  action,  as  her 
school  was  to  re-open  in  three  weeks,  and 
she,  at  least,  would  have  to  return. 

Dr.  Hubert  drew  a  sheet  of  paper 
toward  him  at  once,  and  wrote  to  Miss 
Duncan,  taking  the  tone  that  it  was  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  people 
to  bring  patients  to  his  hospital  without 
any  prospect  of  paying  for  their  treat 
ment,  and  urging  her  not  to  lose  a  day  in 
161 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

bringing  her  brother  on,  saying  that  the 
financial  part  of  the  transaction  could  all 
be  settled  at  some  future  time,  when  it 
had  been  seen  whether  or  not  the  patient 
could  be  benefitted.  This  he  left  to  be 
copied  on  the  typewriter. 

Then  he  wrote  a  very  light  and  easy 
letter  to  Mr.  Black,  and  with  the  utmost 
propriety  returned  the  manuscript.  He 
had  fancied  that  it  would  be  a  great  trial 
to  him  to  give  up  that  little  packet  of  paper 
but  now,  with  the  opportunity  which  he 
had  in  view,  he  could  let  it  go  willingly, 
especially  as  every  word  of  it  was  inscribed 
on  his  heart. 

These  two  matters  disposed  of,  Dr. 
Hubert  got  into  his  buggy,  and  had  him 
self  driven  to  the  hospital.  It  was  not 
his  usual  time  for  coming,  and  the  matron 
and  nurses  were  thrown  into  quite  a  little 
flutter  of  surprise  at  seeing  him.  He  soon 
explained,  however,  that  he  had  only  come 
to  give  explicit  orders  that  Number  29 
was  not  to  be  given  to  any  one,  as  he 
162 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

wished  it  reserved  for  a  patient  whom  he 
was  expecting  in  a  day  or  two.  This  was 
his  favorite  room  in  the  hospital ;  its  wall 
paper,  furniture,  and  situation  were  the 
very  best  in  the  house,  and  the  price  of  it 
corresponded  to  this  fact. 

When  Dr.  Hubert  sprang  into  his  buggy 
again,  there  was  a  buoyancy  in  his  man 
ner  which  was  unusual,  even  to  this  ener 
getic  man.  A  little  later,  as  he  came 
suddenly  in  view  of  a  florist's  window,  he 
put  out  his  hand  and  jerked  up  the  horse 
suddenly,  to  the  driver's  surprise,  and  went 
into  the  shop.  When  he  came  out,  he 
had  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  and  a  big 
bunch  of  carnations  in  his  hands.  These 
he  smelt  with  evident  pleasure,  from  time 
to  time,  finally  bestowing  them  on  a  little 
crippled  boy  who  was  one  of  his  patients. 

By  return  of  post  Dr.  Hubert  got  a 
letter  announcing  the  day  and  hour  on 
which  the  new  patient  and  his  sister  might 
be  expected. 

On  that  day  and  hour  he  sent  one  of 
163 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

his  young  assistant  physicians  to  the  sta 
tion  to  meet  the  brother  and  sister,  ex 
plaining  that  they  had  been  very  especially 
commended  to  his  care,  and  that,  as  the 
boy  was  lame,  the  young  lady  might  re 
quire  assistance  in  moving  him. 

As  he  uttered  the  words  "  young  lady," 
the  possibility  crossed  his  mind  that  the 
adjective  might  possibly  be  proved  to  be  a 
mistake.  Suppose,  after  all,  she  should 
turn  out  to  be  elderly,  unlovable,  and  un- 
beautiful !  He  laughed  to  himself,  in  ar 
dent  rejection  of  the  idea.  Such  a  woman 
might  well  have  been  the  author  of  those 
two  letters,  which  were  models  of  stiff 
propriety  and  reserve,  but  such  a  woman 
could  never  be  the  author  of  that  manu 
script.  When  he  remembered  the  free 
expression  of  vivid  thought  and  ardent 
feeling  that  that  story  had  contained,  he 
felt  a  positive  certainty  that  the  being  who 
had  written  it  would  prove  to  be  both 
young  and  lovely. 

And  both  young  and  lovely  did  she 
164 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

prove.  When  "  The  Doctor,"  as  he  was 
called  by  all  the  inmates  of  the  hospital, 
whether  they  served  and  worshipped  him 
as  employees  or  as  patients,  arrived  that 
afternoon,  he  paid  every  visit  that  was  due 
on  the  premises  before  he  went  to  Num 
ber  29.  These  visits  were  unusually 
brief,  however,  and  as  he  consulted  his 
watch  before  tapping  at  that  door,  he  saw 
that  he  had  managed  well,  and  had  left 
himself  plenty  of  time  to  be  deliberate  in 
the  examination  of  this  patient  and  the 
talking  over  of  his  case  with  his  sister. 

Certainly  it  was  a  youthful  voice  that 
called,  "  Come  in,"  in  answer  to  his  knock. 
He  came  in,  accordingly,  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

He  was  a  very  handsome  man,  this 
doctor,  and  very  young  for  his  great  repu 
tation.  He  stood  just  within  the  thresh 
old,  with  his  hands  resting  on  his  hips  in 
an  attitude  of  much  natural  grace.  Then 
he  bowed  politely  and  took  in  the  two  oc 
cupants  of  the  room  with  a  keen  and  con- 
165 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

centrated   gaze,  through    a   pair    of    very 
light  and  polished  glasses. 

The  crippled  boy  was  lying  on  the  bed, 
and  a  beautiful,  blooming,  vigorous  young 
girl  was  sitting  by  him  in  an  attitude  of 
expectation,  and  with  a  look  upon  her  face 
that  was  tinged  with  a  shy  timidity.  The 
doctor  did  not  speak  at  first,  having  a 
fancy  that  she  should  open  the  conversa 
tion.  She  stood  up,  in  evident  hesitation 
what  to  do,  and  then  said  : 

"  Did  you  want  to  speak  to  me  about 
anything  ?  " 

"  I  fancied  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me," 
he  said. 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  one  of  the  doctors," 
said  Ethel,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  one  of  the  doctors,"  he 
said,  looking  at  her  keenly  all  the  time, 
with  a  self-possession  which  she  found  it 
impossible  to  imitate.  She  was  so  con 
fused,  in  fact,  that  she  could  think  of  noth 
ing  to  say  but,  "  Which  one  ?  " 

"Dr.  Hubert,"  he  said. 
1 66 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"Oh,  are  there  two  Dr.  Huberts?" 
she  asked.  "  I  did  n't  know  that." 

"  There  is  but  one  Dr.  Hubert,  so  far 
as  I  know,"  he  said.  "  Why  do  you  ob 
ject  to  my  being  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  really  !  "  said  the  girl,  blushing. 
"  Please  excuse  me.  I  thought  he  would 
be  an  old  man." 

"  I  'm  glad  he  ain  't.  I  hate  old  men ! " 
put  in  Bobby,  unexpectedly. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  my  boy,"  said 
the  doctor,  advancing  to  the  bed-side. 
"  Your  sister,  it  seems,  is  disappointed  in 
me.  I  am  afraid  I  will  have  to  make  a 
big  effort  to  build  up  her  confidence." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  It  is  n't  that,"  said 
Ethel,  eagerly ;  but  he  was  plainly  not 
attending  to  her  words,  as  he  bent  over 
the  bed  and  looked  scrutinizingly  into  the 
boy's  face,  and  then  took  one  of  the  small, 
thin  hands  into  his,  and  held  it  in  a  watch 
ful  sort  of  way  as  he  turned  to  the  girl  and 
said,  with  earnest  interest : 

"  Is  his  general  health  pretty  good  ?  " 
167 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  so,"  began  Ethel ; 
but  the  child  interrupted  her,  roughly  : 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  think  so ! "  he  said.  "  As 
if  you  knew  how  I  suffer  !  You  never 
have  an  ache  or  a  pain,  and  you  do  n't  care 
how  /  feel !  " 

Ethel  was  about  to  speak,  when  the 
doctor,  catching  Bobby  by  the  chin  and 
looking  intently  into  his  eyes,  said  firmly  : 

"  Now  look  here,  my  youngster,  I  'm 
going  to  put  a  stop  to  this  at  once  — 
do  you  understand  ?  I  'm  not  going  to 
have  your  sister  spoken  to  in  any  such  a 
way  as  that.  She  's  your  best  friend,  and 
she  seems  to  be  a  good  enough  one  for 
any  boy  alive,  and  I  'd  like  to  see  you  treat 
her  with  a  little  respect,  if  you  please." 

The  boy  flushed  deeply  as  he  realized 
the  impression  that  he  had  made  upon  this 
new  doctor,  from  whom  he  hoped  so  much. 
He  was  very  angry  with  himself,  and  said 
quickly  : 

"  Perhaps  you  think  I  do  n't  love  her, 
or  know  how  good  she  is  to  me.  If  you 
168 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

think  so,  you  are  wrong.  I  love  her  better 
than  all  the  world,  and  I  know  there  never 
was  such  a  good  sister  ;  but  she  does  n't 
mind.  She  knows  how  I  suffer,  and  she 
lets  me  talk  to  her  like  that,  when  the  pain 
is  very  bad." 

There  were  tears  of  regret  and  mortifica 
tion  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  seeing  which 
the  doctor's  face  grew  suddenly  very  gentle. 

"  I  know  how  you  suffer,  even  better 
than  she  does,"  he  said ;  "  but  until  I  can 
relieve  the  suffering,  as  I  hope  to  do, 
/  am  not  going  to  let  you  talk  to  her  like 
that,  both  because  it  must  hurt  her  feelings 
and  because  it  is  unkind  and  unmanly  of  you. 
I  know  you  well  enough  already  to  feel 
sure  that  you  want  to  bear  your  troubles 
like  a  man,  and  I  am  going  to  help  you  to 
do  it." 

With  what  infinite  comfort  did  Ethel 
listen  to  these  words  !  She  had  found  her 
poor  little  brother's  tempers  almost  more 
than  she  could  battle  with  at  times,  and 
for  his  own  sake  she  had  longed  to  correct  , 
169 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

them,  but  no  one  had  ever  given  her  any 
help  before.  Indeed,  it  was  a  new  thing 
to  her  to  be  helped  in  any  way,  and  never 
had  she  recognized  in  any  human  being 
such  a  power  of  helpfulness  as  she  had 
already  divined  to  be  in  this  man.  She 
looked  at  Bobby  keenly  to  see  if  he  ap 
peared  to  be  irritated  and  angry ;  but, 
instead  of  showing  a  spirit  of  peevishness 
and  antagonism  toward  the  person  who  had 
given  him  so  decided  a  rebuke,  she  saw 
that  the  child's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
doctor  with  a  look  of  strong  confidence 
and  affectionate  appeal. 

"  Can  you  make  me  well  ?  "  he  said. 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you  yet," 
the  doctor  answered  ;  "  but  I  will  do  my 
part,  if  you  do  yours.  You  know,  and  I 
know,  that  this  good  sister  of  yours  will 
do  hers." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  better  than  you," 
said  Bobby  ;  "  but  what  is  my  part  ? " 

"  To  be  patient  and  manly,  and  to  do 
what  you  are  told.     Can  you  do  that  ?" 
170 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  I  can  try,"  said  Bobby,  wistfully. 

"  That  is  all  that  any  of  us  can  do  — 
try  our  best.  And  now,  Miss  Duncan, 
if  you  will  do  me  the  kindness  to  go  to 
the  matron's  room,  at  the  end  of  this  hall, 
and  tell  her  to  send  Dr.  Lawson  to  me 
here,  at  once,  I  will  see  what  is  the  trouble 
with  this  little  man.  If  you  will  also 
stay  with  Mrs.  Mjlls  until  I  send  for  you 
to  return,  you  will  have  the  chance  to 
make  acquaintance  with  a  very  kind  and 
motherly  woman,  whom  you  will  find  pre 
pared  to  render  you  any  help  or  service 
that  may  be  in  her  power,  while  you  are 
in  the  house." 

Ethel  got  up  at  once,  but  before 
leaving  she  said,  while  her  face  grew  sud 
denly  white  and  anxious  : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  you  are  going 
to  do  ? " 

"  Only  to  make  an  examination,"  he 
said,  gently.  "  I  will  not  hurt  him." 

Oh,  how  grateful  it  was  to  her  heart  to 
find  that  he  cared  —  cared  about  hurting 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Bobby's  body,  and  cared  about  hurting 
her  feelings !  As  the  girl  left  the  room 
and  walked  down  the  wide  and  beautifully 
clean  and  bright  hall,  she  was  conscious 
for  the  first  time  since  childhood  of  being 
helped  and  taken  care  of,  and  of  having  her 
load  of  responsibility  shared  by  another. 

At  the  end  of  about  twenty  minutes  of 
pleasant  talk  with  Mrs.  Mills,  a  pretty 
little  nurse,  with  snowy  cap  and  apron, 
appeared,  and  with  the  manner  of  sup 
pressed  agitation,  which  usually  character 
ized  in  this  establishment  those  who  were 
the  bearers  of  messages  from  "  The 
Doctor,"  she  summoned  Ethel  to  an 
audience  with  that  august  individual  in 
his  private  office. 

When  Ethel  knocked  at  the  door  of 
this  attractive  room,  it  was  promptly 
opened  from  within,  and  Dr.  Hubert, 
after  having  closed  the  door  behind  her, 
led  her  to  a  chair  and  sat  down  facing  her. 
He  then  began  asking  her  very  searching 
and  detailed  particulars  as  to  the  fall  which 
172 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Bobby  had  had,  and,  when  he  had  ended 
these,  he  added  : 

"  And,  now,  you  would  like  to  ask  me 
some  questions,  would  you  not  ?  You 
want  to  know  the  result  of  my  examina 
tion  ? " 

"  If  you  want  to  tell  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  willing  to  know  as  much  or  as  little  as 
you  wish." 

"  You  have  confidence   in  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have,  indeed,"  said  Ethel,  "  ab 
solute  confidence ! " 

"  That  is  good  !  —  but,  this  confidence 
—  when  did  it  come  to  you  ?  From  what 
you  have  heard  of  me,  or  from  what  you 
have  seen  ? " 

"  A  good  deal  from  what  I  have  heard, 
but  more  from  what  I  have  seen.  I  knew 
you  were  a  great  doctor,  but  now  I  know 
you  are  good  and  kind." 

"  You  trust  me,  then,  about  your 
brother  ?  You  believe  that  I  will  do  my 
utmost  for  him  and  for  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  !"  said  Ethel,  earnestly. 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear  child, 
that  I  feel  very  certain  that  I  can  help  him 
and  relieve  him  of  much  of  the  pain,  but  I 
have  no  certainty  of  curing  him.  The 
most  that  I  can  do  is  to  help  nature  out, 
and  wait  for  results.  The  treatment  will 
be  long,  but  will  inevitably  do  much  good 
and  relieve  the  pain ;  I  ask  nothing,  but  that 
you  will  leave  the  case  to  me.  Will  you  ? " 

"  How  can  you  ask  ?  How  can  I  be 
anything  but  glad  and  thankful  to  do  it  ?  " 
said  Ethel,  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes. 
"  But  I  have  told  you  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  interrupted  her, 
"  we  need  n't  speak  about  that  now.  If 
you  leave  the  matter  to  me,  you  must 
leave  it  to  me  wholly.  All  that  is  my 
affair.  I  often  wait  indefinitely  for  my 
pay,  and  it  really  is  n't  such  an  expensive 
matter  as  you  may  suppose.  But,  as  I 
said  before,  you  must  do  your  part.  You 
must  stay  here  with  Bobby,  and  take  care 
of  and  amuse  him.  That  will  do  away 
with  the  need  of  a  special  nurse." 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  Of  course  I  will  —  until  my  school 
begins,"  said  Ethel.  "  Then  I  will  be 
obliged  to  go.  That  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  Bobby,  and  me,  too." 

"  And  how  long  before  that  does  be- 
gin  ?  " 

"  Three  weeks,"  said  Ethel,  in  a  tone 
that  was  half  desperate. 

" Three  weeks!"  said  the  doctor,quickly. 
u  That  is  plenty  of  time  to  arrange  for  the 
future;  and  now  all  you  have  got  to  do  is  to 
be  as  happy  as  you  can,  say  your  prayers, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  Now,  you  can 
go  and  see  Bobby.  I  told  Lawson  to 
stay  with  him  until  you  came." 

He  got  up  and  opened  the  door  for  her, 
as  he  spoke,  and,  without  knowing  why, 
she  carried  away  a  strong  impression  of 
charm  and  strength  from  the  pose  of  his 
figure,  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  her. 
He  was  a  trained  athlete,  and  not  the 
least  part  of  his  personal  attractiveness 
was  in  his  exceptionally  handsome  figure. 

The  next  day,  Bobby  was  put  under 
'75 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

chloroform,  and  an  operation  was  per 
formed.  Ethel  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Mills'  room 
during  this  time,  and  when  at  last  a  message 
arrived  for  her  to  come,  she  found  her  little 
brother  stretched  out  very  straight  and 
stiff  upon  a  bed,  waiting  for  the  plaster 
jacket,  in  which  he  had  been  cased,  to 
harden.  He  was  still  unconscious,  but 
the  doctor,  who  met  her  at  the  door,  pre 
pared  her  for  a  comprehension  of  every 
thing,  by  telling  her  that  it  was "  all 
right,"  and  that  he  was  more  convinced 
than  ever  of  being  able  to  do  Bobby  good. 
The  doctor  himself  was  in  his  working 
clothes  of  immaculate  white  linen,  a 
costume  in  which  those  who  had  been 
privileged  to  see  him,  declared  that  he 
looked  his  very  best ;  and  when  he  bent 
over  Bobby,  and  took  the  trouble  to  ex 
plain  to  Ethel  what  he  had  done  in  the 
way  of  straightening  and  righting  things, 
she  felt  as  if  he  were  a  sort  of  strong  good 
spirit,  who  had  both  power  and  will  to 
lessen  the  woes  of  life. 
176 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Ethel  had  feared  that  the  effect  of  the 
plaster  would  be  to  make  the  boy,  at  first, 
at  least,  more  uncomfortable  ;  but  to  her 
delight,  she  found  that  the  support  which 
it  gave  was  an  intense  relief  to  him,  and 
that  he  seemed  every  hour  to  be  growing 
better  in  body  and  in  mind.  The  doctor's 
influence  over  him  was  simply  unbounded, 
and  a  tremendous  reformation  had  evident 
ly  begun  in  temper  and  disposition. 

One  afternoon,  a  few  days  later,  Ethel 
was  sitting  telling  Bobby  a  story,  when 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  She 
called  "Come  in,"  and  to  her  surprise  it 
was  the  doctor  who  entered,  although  it 
was  out  of  his  usual  hospital  hours.  He 
wore  a  long  overcoat  of  tan-colored  cloth, 
had  a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  and  held  an 
immaculate  top-hat  in  his  gloved  hand. 
Ethel  quite  started.  She  had  never  seen 
such  an  imposing  gentleman  as  this,  out 
side  of  a  picture,  before. 

"  I  have  come  to  give  you  a  little  air 
ing,"  he  said  ;  "  you  need  it,  I  am  sure. 
177 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Will  you  put  on  your  wraps  and  come 
down  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  ?  I  want 
to  take  you  to  the  park." 

Then  he  turned  and  put  his  gloved 
thumb  on  the  button  of  the  electric  bell, 
and,  in  a  moment,  a  tidy  nurse  appeared. 

"  Are  you  on  special  duty,  this  after 
noon  ?  "  he  asked  ;  and  having  a  negative 
reply,  went  on  :  "Then  find  some  story 
books  or  toys  and  come  and  amuse  this 
child,  if  you  please.  I  am  going  to  take 
Miss  Duncan  for  a  little  airing." 

When  Ethel,  five  minutes  later,  came 
downstairs,  she  found  the  doctor  waiting 
in  the  hall,  while  several  people — nurses, 
patients,  etc.  —  were  trying  to  get  a  word 
with  him. 

But  he  waved  them  off,  shaking  his 
head  and  shutting  his  eyes,  with  a  smile 
of  obstinate  dismissal  of  their  claims. 

"  I  am   off  duty   now,"   he  said  ;  "  all 

these  things  must  wait,  or  you  must  go  to 

the  other  doctors.     Come,  Miss  Duncan," 

and   he  led    the   way  down  the  long  hall. 

178 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

As  he  opened  the  door  for  Ethel  to  go 
out,  she  saw,  drawn  up  before  the  pave 
ment,  a  handsome  drag,  with  a  pair  of 
superb  horses,  glittering  with  their  heavy 
harnesses,  and  with  a  groom  in  top-boots 
standing  at  their  heads. 

As  she  was  helped  into  this  imposing 
equipage,  which  was  as  far  removed  from 
anything  in  her  former  experience  as  the 
coach  and  six  was  from  Cinderella's,  the 
doctor  gathered  up  the  reins,  while  the 
groom  sprang  into  his  place  behind,  and 
they  started  off  over  the  noisy  cobble 
stones  at  a  swinging  pace. 

Very  soon,  however,  they  had  left  .the 
city  streets  behind,  and  were  bowling 
along  at  ease  over  the  smooth  roads  of  the 
beautiful  park.  And  then  what  delightful 
talk  they  had  !  How  her  companion  drew 
her  out,  and  provoked  her  to  charming 
and  spontaneous  chatter !  She  was  a 
rather  countrified  little  creature,  in  spite 
of  her  beauty,  and  perhaps  some  of  the 
fashionable  people,  who  bowed  to  Dr. 
179 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

Hubert  in  passing,  wondered  at  the  shape 
of  her  little  black  hat,  and  the  cut  of  her 
dark  cloth  jacket.  If  they  did,  she  never 
suspected  it ;  and  if  her  companion  did,  it 
must  have  troubled  him  very  little,  for  he 
had  a  gleam  of  positive  exultation  in  his 
eyes. 

It  was  a  memorable  drive  to  them  both, 
and  there  was  such  a  feeling  of  spontaneous 
freedom  and  confidence  in  the  girl's  heart, 
that,  when  she  got  back  to  Bobby  at  last, 
she  felt  as  if  she  had  really  known  this 
charming,  friendly  doctor  the  whole  of 
her  natural  life. 

"  And  so  you  have ! "  he  said  to  her, 
next  day,  when,  having  sent  for  her  to 
come  to  his  office,  she  had  made  this  same 
remark  to  him.  "  I  really  believe  we 
have  known  each  other  always.  It  only 
remained  for  us  to  meet  in  bodily  pres 
ence.  But  what  I  sent  for  you  to-day 
was,  to  tell  you  that  I  had  leisure  now  to 
listen  to  what  you  said  you  had  to  tell  me 
about  your  future  plans.  I  checked  you 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

then,  but  now  I  want  to  hear  what  it  is. 
Tell  me." 

"  1  only  wanted  to  remind  you  that  I 
must  go  away  very  soon,"  she  began. 

"  You  can  't  go ;  Bobby  needs  you," 
said  the  doctor,  decidedly. 

"  I  know  it.  I  do  n't  see  what  I  am  to 
do.  I  can  go  back  and  send  a  little 
money  from  my  salary  for  his  weekly 
board,  but  that  seems  almost  preposterous." 

"  The  idea  of  your  leaving  seems  pre 
posterous,"  he  said.  "  I  really  can"'t  let 
you  go.  The  school  must  go  to  the 
wall." 

"  Oh  F  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  "  she  said. 
"  It 's  the  first  time  that  you  have  seemed 
uncomprehending." 

"  I  am  not  uncomprehending,"  he  said ; 
"  I  am  only  thinking  hard  how  I  can 
make  you  comprehend." 

"  Comprehend  what  r  "  she  said. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked.     «  Will 
you  promise  me  not  to  be  angry,  and  will 
you  keep  your  promise  ?" 
181 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

"  Yes,  tell  me ;  I  promise,"  she  said. 
"  I  do  n't  believe  I  could  fail  to  compre 
hend  whatever  it  is  that  you  have  to  say 
to  me." 

"  Then  what  I  have  to  say  is  this  — 
what  my  heart  burns  to  say,  what  I  have 
had  to  fight  myself,  day  and  night,  since 
the  first  day  of  your  coming,  to  keep  from 
saying,  is  this  —  that  I  love  you,  and  that 
all  my  hope  of  joy  is  to  have  you  for  my 
wife." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  looked  at 
him  with  wonder  and  mystification  in  her 
eyes. 

"Ah  !  "  he  said  ;  "you  were  mistaken. 
You  cannot  comprehend  how  I  love  you 
so,  when,  as  you  think,  I  know  you  so 
little.  But  there  you  are  wrong.  I  know 
you,  as  no  one  else  in  all  the  world  can 
possibly  know  you  ;  and  I  think  you,  of 
all  the  world,  are  the  one  who  best  knows 
me.  Here,  look  at  this,  and  tell  me  if  you 
have  ever  seen  it  before." 

He  took  a  packet  from  the  drawer  at 
183 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

his  side,  and  put  it  in  her  hands.  The 
color  flew  to  her  face,  and  her  lips  parted 
in  a  radiant  smile. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  have  seen  it  be 
fore.  Was  this  story  written  by  you  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  he  answered ;  "  and  it  is  be 
cause  1  know  that  you  have  read  it  and 
have  understood  that  it  is  no  story,  but 
the  baring  of  a  man's  inmost  heart,  that  I 
say  you  know  me  as  no  one  else  does. 
In  the  same  manner  also,  it  has  come  to 
pass  that  I  know  you." 

"  You  got  my  manuscript?"  she  said. 
"  It  was  you  to  whom  Mr.  Black  sent  it 
by  mistake  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  he  answered ;  u  and  perhaps 
it  will  not  seem  strange  to  you  now  when 
I  say,  we  are  not  strangers,  but  are  inti 
mately,  closely,  mysteriously  known  to 
one  another.  This  knowledge  of  you,  on 
my  part,  has  led  to  love  —  the  first  real 
passion  of  my  life.  I  loved  you  from  the 
hour  that  I  read  that  paper.  I  loved  your 
nature,  your  mind,  your  soul.  Now  that 
183 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

I  have  seen  you,  in  all  your  goodness  and 
loveliness  and  beauty,  I  love  you  beyond 
all  my  dreams  of  love.  And  you  ?  "  he 
said  ;  "  how  is  it  with  you,  Ethel  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  slow,  half- 
puzzled,  wholly  confiding,  and  happy 
smile. 

"  If  you  had  asked  me  to  marry  you 
without  telling  me  this,"  she  said,  "  I 
could  not  have  said  'yes.'  I  might  not 
have  told  you  the  reason,  but  it  would 
have  been  that  my  heart  was  already  given 
to  a  man  whom  I  had  never  seen,  and 
who  was  known  to  me  only  as  '  Hugh 
Robertson.' " 

"  But  now,"  he  said,  "  now  that  you 
know  that  Hugh  Robertson  is  really 
Arthur  Hugh  Hubert,  what  will  you  say? 
O  Ethel,  I  love  you  with  the  hoarded 
love  of  many  loveless  and  lonely  years  ! 
Will  you  come  to  me,  and  be  my  wife  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  glowing.  His  face  was 
flushed ;  his  breathing  came  from  him  in 
quick  breaths.  He  did  not  move  toward 
184 


The  Thirst  and  the  Draught 

her,  but  stood  where  he  was,  and  held  out 
his  arms. 

And  Ethel  came  to  them,  and  as  she 
rested  there  an  instant,  and  then  turned 
her  face  upward  to  receive  his  kiss,  they 
both  felt  in  that  moment's  ecstasy  the 
long  thirsting  of  their  souls  satisfied  at 
last,  completely  and  eternally,  by  the 
divine  draught  of  love. 


185 


A  Bartered  Birthright 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

After  debating  the  matter  for  ten  years 
or  so,  John  Hertford  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  adopt  St.  Petersburg  as  a  place  of 
residence,  and  was  now  on  his  way  back  to 
New  York,  to  order  his  affairs  to  that  end. 
He  was  not  rich,  but  then  he  was  not  ex 
travagant,  and  his  moderate  income  was 
more  than  sufficient  for  the  wants  of  a 
man  who  had  no  one  dependent  on  him, 
and  who  had  entirely  made  up  his  mind 
not  to  marry.  He  had  been  in  love  more 
than  once  in  his  life,  and  yet,  ardent  as  his 
feelings  had  been  for  the  objects  who 
aroused  that  emotion  in  him,  he  had  never 
had  quite  the  feeling  to  make  him  long  to 
call  any  woman  his  wife.  The  truth  was 
owned  to  himself  in  his  secret  heart  — that 
word  "wife"  possessed  for  him  a  signifi- 
189 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

cance  which  involved  so  much  that  he  had 
often  wondered,  in  early  youth,  if  he  could 
ever  actually  find,  in  one  personality,  all 
the  qualities  of  mind  and  heart  and  person 
which  he  looked  for.  In  maturer  years,  he 
had  quite  satisfied  himself  that  the  idea  was 
absurd.  So  he  abandoned  his  youthful 
dreams,  without  any  great  ado,  especially 
as  he  had  found  that  life  had  certain  posi 
tive  compensations  for  their  loss.  He  made 
up  his  mind,  however,  that  he  could  not 
accept  less  than  his  ideal  in  marriage,  and 
so,  with  more  or  less  contentment,  he  had 
shaped  his  life  to  the  demands  and  dimen 
sions  of  a  bachelor  existence,  and  was 
looking  forward  with  pleasure  to  the  more 
deliberate  and  satisfactory  settlement  of 
himself  and  his  belongings  at  the  brilliant 
capital  on  his  return.  He  was  not  in 
dolent,  and  his  taste  for  art,  music  and 
literature  gave  him  plenty  of  occupation  to 
diversify  the  life  of  social  pleasure  in  the 
midst  of  which  he  had  cast  his  lines. 
He  was  a  very  popular  man,  and  yet  one 
190 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

could  hardly  tell  exactly  why  it  was  that 
men  and  women,  and  even  children,  liked 
him  so.  His  face  was  strong  and  inter 
esting  rather  than  handsome,  and  his  figure 
active  and  powerful  rather  than  elegant. 
He  had  no  especial  charms  of  manner, 
except  a  supremely  winning  trait  of  gen 
tleness,  which  would  have  made  the  eternal 
happiness  of  his  wife  —  had  there  been 
such  a  being  ! 

He  was  not  looking  forward  with  much 
pleasure  to  his  visit  to  his  native  country, 
and  had  bound  himself  by  the  severest 
obligations  to  be  back  in  a  very  short 
time  ;  and  now,  on  the  first  day  out  on  his 
ocean  voyage,  he  found  himself  wishing 
that  the  trip  to  New  York  was  over,  and 
that  he  was  going  back.  There  would  be 
so  many  changes  among  his  old  friends  — 
so  many  reminders  of  the  painful  fact  that 
youth  was  passing  —  a  thing  he  could 
ignore  much  better  in  Russia  than  in  his 
own  land ! 

He  was,  like  many  people  whose  attach- 
191 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

ments  are  warm  when  made,  rather  averse 
to  making  new  acquaintances,  from  the 
fact  that  the  ones  already  possessed  kept 
his  faculty  of  affection  sufficiently  em 
ployed.  So,  when  he  glanced  over  the 
passenger-list,  it  was  rather  satisfactory 
than  otherwise  to  see  there  was  no  name 
he  knew.  He  had  plenty  of  books  with 
him,  and  expected  to  find  his  time  suffi 
ciently  occupied  in  reading,  and  in  escaping 
from  the  bores  by  whom  men  crossing  the 
ocean  are  apt  to  be  beset. 

It  was  early  in  December,  and  the 
weather  was  raw  and  cold.  Hertford  was 
well  protected  against  it,  however,  and 
spent  much  of  his  time  on  deck.  On  the 
afternoon  of  the  second  day  out,  he  had 
been  comfortably  settled  for  some  time, 
absorbed  in  his  book,  when,  amid  the  con 
fused  sounds  of  water  and  machinery  and 
human  speech,  he  heard  some  words 
spoken  so  near  him  that  they  compelled 
the  recognition  of  his  consciousness. 

"  It  seems  that 's  her  aunt,  and  not  her 
192 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

mother,"  the  voice  said  :  and  glancing  up, 
Hertford  saw  two  women,  who  had  placed 
themselves  very  near  him  and  were  evi 
dently  discussing  some  third  party  of  trav 
ellers.  "  I  heard  the  beautiful  girl  call 
her  4  Auntie,'  as  I  passed.  I  call  the  old 
one  the  c  Rich  Lady,'  until  I  can  find 
out  her  name,  because  she's  so  high  and 
mighty  and  magnificent.  They  've  got  a 
foreign  maid  and  man-servant  with  them, 
and  more  furs  and  rugs  and  foot-warmers 
and  luxuries  than  any  one  on  the  ship.  I 
want  you  to  watch  the  Rich  Lady  when 
she  speaks  to  those  servants.  I  've  heard 
her  call  them  both  by  name,  and  they  had 
foreign  names  unfamiliar  to  me;  but  I 
told  some  one  yesterday  evening  that,  as 
well  as  I  could  make  out,  she  called  the 
maid  l  Minion,'  and  the  man  '  Varlet ' — 
perhaps  her  manner  helped  me  a  little  to 
this  understanding  of  her  words." 

The  speaker  and  her  companion  both 
laughed,  and  Hertford,  amused,  too,  fol 
lowed  the  direction  of  their  eyes,  and  soon 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

identified  the  two  persons  under  discussion. 
It  was  certainly  true  that  they  were  sur 
rounded  by  a  greater  evidence  of  magnifi 
cence  in  their  travelling  paraphernalia  than 
any  one  else  he  had  seen.  Their  deck-chairs, 
cushions,  rugs,  and  superb  furs  made  them 
seem  almost  unnecessarily  luxurious.  The 
older  of  the  two  had  her  large  and  bony 
frame  stretched  out  at  length  on  her  deck- 
chair,  and  her  harsh  profile,  with  its  thin, 
aquiline  nose  and  thick,  whitish  eyebrows 
was  thrown  out  in  high  relief  against  the 
dark-red  cloak  worn  by  her  companion, 
whose  head  was  enveloped  in  its  pointed 
hood.  The  girl's  face  was  turned  sea 
ward,  so  that  Hertford  could  not  get  a 
glimpse  of  it.  But  just  as  he  had  seen,  in 
spite  of  heavy  coverings,  that  the  older 
woman's  figure  was  angular  and  thin,  so 
he  could  see,  in  the  younger  one's,  sugges 
tions  of  youthful  vigor  and  loveliness.  He 
was  conscious  of  being  interested  by  the 
mere  pose  of  her  head  and  turn  of  her 
throat.  Her  red  cloak  was  gathered  in  at 
194 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

the  neck  by  an  infinite  number  of  fine, 
flat  little  plaits  that  broke  into  free  and 
graceful  folds  about  her  shoulders,  and 
covered  her  arms  and  hands.  Hertford 
had  given  no  more  than  a  passing  glance 
to  the  faces  of  the  two  women  whose 
conversation  he  had  overheard,  and  a 
gtance  was  enough  to  satisfy  him  also  as 
to  the  appearance  of  the  girl's  companion; 
but  for  several  moments  he  kept  his  eyes 
furtively  upon  the  muffled  figure  and  head 
of  the  girl  herself.  As  he  was  looking,  a 
more  violent  lurch  than  any  that  had  pre 
ceded  it  tipped  the  vessel  so  far  on  its 
side  that  a  great  wave,  which  was  ad 
vancing,  broke  over  the  deck  and  deluged 
every  one  with  the  heavy  salt  water.  In 
an  instant  it  had  receded,  leaving  the  floor 
of  the  deck  a  running  stream,  and  the 
water  standing  in  little  puddles  on  rugs 
and  cloaks,  and  wherever  it  had  found  a 
hollow  to  fill.  Most  of  the  passengers 
laughed  good-humoredly,  and  took  it  as  a 
joke,  while  the  deck-stewards  were  brush- 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

ing  them  off  and  mopping  up  the  water. 
Hertford  sat  up  and  shook  himself  with  a 
smile,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  heard  his  near 
est  neighbor  say  : 

"  Oh,  do  look  at  the  Rich  Lady  !  " 

She  had  drawn  herself  upward  in  her 
chair,the  picture  of  angry  protest,  and  as 
the  assiduous  steward  hurried  to  her  assist 
ance,  she  said,  indignantly  : 

"  Well !  Are  we  likely  to  have  much 
more  of  this  ?"  Quite  as  if  she  had  put 
up  with  as  much  from  the  ocean  as  she 
proposed  to  stand  ! 

As  the  humor  of  the  thing  flashed  upon 
Hertford,  he  glanced  at  the  figure  beyond, 
which  had  also  taken  an  upright  position, 
and  he  saw  the  very  loveliest  girl-face 
that  he  had  ever  set  his  eyes  on.  He  not 
only  saw  it,  but  he  exchanged  with  it  a 
glance  of  sympathetic  amusement,  which, 
somehow,  seemed  to  do  the  work  of  an 
acquaintanceship  of  weeks.  If,  as  George 
Eliot  so  profoundly  says,  "A  difference  of 
taste  in  jokes  is  a  great  strain  on  the 
196 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

affections,"  the  reverse  is  equally  true; 
and  a  sense  of  liking  sprang  into  being  in 
both  of  the  individuals  whose  eyes  met  in 
that  momentary  smiling  glance.  In  an 
instant  they  looked  away  from  each  other. 
And  now  the  two  foreign  servants  came 
hurrying  up  with  towels  and  brushes. 
Hertford  could  not  distinctly  make  out  the 
hurried  French  sentences  which  the  old 
lady  addressed  to  them,  but  he  soon  com 
prehended  the  attitude  which  had  sug 
gested  the  names  of  "  Minion  "  and  "Var- 
let"  to  his  bright  little  neighbor. 

It  soon  appeared  that  it  was  the  Rich 
Lady's  will  to  go  below,  and  she  got  to 
her  feet,  shaking  herself  free  from  her 
furs,  and  motioning  her  niece  to  follow 
her.  The  girl  rose  obediently,  and  as 
the  maid  came  to  her  assistance,  Hert 
ford  noticed  the  gentle  and  amiable  way 
in  which  she  spoke  to  the  servant,  in 
strong  contrast  to  the  manner  of  the 
older  woman.  She,  however,  responded 
very  submissively  to  her  aunt's  wish, 
197 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

although  he  thought  it  possible  that  she 
would  have  preferred  to  stay.  As  she 
passed  very  near  to  Hertford  she  did  not 
look  toward  him,  and  so  he  could  venture 
to  look  at  her.  Her  profile  was  exquisite, 
and  her  very  manner  of  walking  and  hold 
ing  her  wraps  was  full  of  charm  for  him. 
When  she  was  almost  out  of  sight,  he 
obeyed  the  strong  impulse  which  prompted 
him  to  follow,  and,  leaving  all  his  belong 
ings,  he  did  so,  keeping  them  in  sight 
until  they  had  disappeared  into  one  of  the 
cabine$-de-luxe,  the  number  of  which  he 
easily  ascertained.  Then  he  went  to  the 
saloon,  where  he  looked  at  the  passenger- 
list.  The  names  opposite  the  number  of 
that  state-room  were:  Mrs.  Etheridge  and 
Miss  Sheldon ;  valet  et  femme-de-chambre;^ 

He  returned  to  his  seat  on  deck,  but 
his  book  had  lost  its  interest.  There  was 
something  in  the  glance  of  that  girl's  eyes 
which  was  enthralling.  It  crowded  every 
thing  else  out  of  his  mind.  He  sat  there 
thinking  for  a  long  time  ;  and  he  felt  it 
198 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

a  real  satisfaction  when,  at  last,  from 
some  deep  recess  of  his  memory  he  re 
called  a  rhyme  which  represented  to  him 
exactly  his  present  state  of  mind.  He 
said  it  to  himself,  under  his  breath  : 

"  But  if  Maud  were  all  that  she  seemed, 
And  her  smile  had  all  that  I  dreamed, 
Then  the  world  were  not  so  bitter 
But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet." 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Hertford  be 
came  more  completely  absorbed  in  watch 
ing  this  young  girl,  and  wondering  and 
imagining  about  her,  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  anything  in  his  life.  He  never 
saw  her  except  at  a  distance,  and  even 
then  he  guarded  his  looks  carefully.  The 
two  ladies  seemed  to  have  no  acquaint 
ances  on  board,  and  if  they  had  had,  it 
would  have  done  him  no  good,  for  he 
knew  no  one  to  introduce  him.  Besides, 
he  was  not  sure  he  wanted  to  be  in 
troduced.  There  was  more  room  for  the 
indulgence  of  dreams  as  things  were  now. 

And  he  did  indulge  himself  in  dreams, 
199 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

without  restriction.  The  more  he  saw 
of  the  beautiful  young  creature,  the  more 
adorable  she  seemed  to  him.  He  never 
met  her  suddenly,  or  even  caught  sight  of 
her  red  cloak  at  a  distance,  that  he  did 
not  feel  a  sudden  stilling  of  his  heart 
beats,  followed  by  thick  throbbings  that 
made  his  next  few  breaths  difficult.  Some 
times  he  would  meet  her  taking  exercise 
on  the  deck  with  her  aunt,  and  some 
times  she  was  on  the  arm  of  a  French 
maid.  Hertford  noticed  that  when  the 
latter  was  her  companion  she  had  gen 
erally  a  gayer  and  freer  air,  and  he  could 
see  that  there  were  the  kindest  feelings  of 
sympathy  and  good-will  betv/een  the  two, 
in  spite  of  their  different  spheres  of  life. 
The  woman  did  not  look  as  if  she  could 
have  answered  to  the  name  of  "Minion," 
in  this  companionship  !  When,  however, 
the  young  girl  was  with  her  aunt,  Hert 
ford  often  saw  a  look  of  constraint,  and 
even  sadness,  on  her  face.  This  set  him 
to  conjecturing,  and  gave  him  a  foar  that 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

she  might  be  dependent  upon  this  rich 
and  exacting  relative,  and  perhaps  a  victim 
to  her  tyrannies  and  caprices.  The  mere 
suggestion  of  it  stirred  in  his  heart  depths 
of  tenderness  whose  very  existence  was  a 
surprise  to  him. 

One  afternoon,  during  the  last  days  of 
the  voyage,  Hertford  had  been  sitting  a 
long  time  silently  thinking.  His  thoughts 
were  always  on  one  subject  now  —  the 
girl  who,  at  this  moment,  sat  in  one  of  the 
long  row  of  chairs,  made  fast  against  the 
rolling  of  the  vessel.  There  were,  per 
haps,  half-a  dozen  people  between  them, 
but,  although  he  had  not  looked  toward 
her  since  he  sat  down,  he  had  no  con 
sciousness  of  any  human  existence  about 
him  but  hers.  He  felt,  moreover,  in  his 
inmost  soul,  that  she  had  a  consciousness 
of  him.  He  was  sure  that  an  electric 
current  of  sympathy  communicated  from 
his  heart  to  hers.  There  was  nothing 
whatever  external  to  encourage  him  in  his 
belief —  not  a  look  nor  a  sign,  but  it  was 

201 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

a  thing  stronger  than  either.  And  when 
ever  he  did  meet  her  eyes,  which  was 
rarely,  what  was  it  that  gave  him  that  in 
evitable  little  shock,  if  it  were  not  a  meet 
ing  of  such  currents  ?  Of  course,  his 
might  be  the  positive  and  hers  the  negative, 
but  he  absolutely  believed  she  felt  it,too. 

As  he  sat  there,  watching  the  cold 
flutter  of  the  dingy  white  canvas  that 
covered  the  life-boat,  made  fast  in  front 
of  him,  and  which  was  shaken  into  strong 
ripples  by  the  winter  wind,  making  a 
crackling  little  noise,  he  liked  to  think 
that  they  both  saw  and  heard  the  same 
things,  and  he  longed  to  ask  her  if  the 
ridiculous  little  cannon,  with  its  canvas 
cover,  did  not  remind  her  of  a  child  on  all 
fours,  under  a  table-cloth,  playing  bogy. 
Why  could  n't  he  have  a  little  innocent 
talk  with  her?  The  restrictions  imposed 
by  society  seemed  to  him  most  absurd. 

He  became  aware  that  the  people  be 
tween  him  and  the  object  of  his  thoughts 
were,  one  by  one,  going  away.  At  last, 
202 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

a  man  and  a  woman  sitting  next  to  him  got 
up  and  went  below,  and  now,  with  a 
quickening  of  the  heart,  he  realised  that 
the  being  nearest  him,  across  that  row  of 
empty  chairs,  was  the  girl  whose  image 
had  now  out-crowded  every  other  from 
his  heart.  The  maid  was  on  the  other 
side  of  her,  but  they  were  both  quite 
silent.  Presently  he  ventured  to  turn  his 
head  and  look  toward  her.  Only  her  pure 
profile  was  in  view,  but  he  felt  that  she 
saw  with  her  averted  eyes  that  he  was 
looking  at  her.  Her  rounded  cheek 
seemed  to  return  his  gaze,  and  he  was 
almost  certain  that  it  reddened. 

Of  course,  he  might  be  mistaken  in 
thinking  that  she  had  any  consciousness  of 
his  existence.  He  had  no  real  evidence  of 
the  fact,  but  the  unreal  was  enough  for 
him.  He  was  always  frank,  in  dealing 
with  himself,  though  often  the  reverse  of 
it,  in  interpreting  himself  to  others.  For 
instance,  he  had  always  carefully  conceal 
ed  the  fact  that  he  was,  by  nature,  senti- 
203 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

mental  and  romantic ;  but  he  knew  it  of 
himself  absolutely.  He  was  not  at  all 
surprised  to  find  himself,  now,  in  love  with 
a  woman  to  whom  he  had  never  spoken. 
It  had  always  belonged  to  his  old  ideal  of 
himself  that  he  should  love  at  first  sight, 
if  he  ever  loved  at  all,  in  the  real  sense. 
This  girl  —  if  her  nature  and  character 
corresponded  to  her  personality  —  was  ab 
solutely  all  that  he  ever  dreamed  of;  and 
he  had  not  a  fear  that,  in  knowing  her, 
he  should  find  himself  disappointed.  In 
deed,  what  he  felt  was,  that  he  absolutely 
knew  her  already.  It  gave  him  a  slight 
twinge  of  regret  to  think  she  must  be  so 
many  years  younger  than  himself — it 
must  be  ten  or  twelve,  for  she  could  not  be 
over  twenty-two  or  twenty-three.  But 
then  she  was  a  being  with  whom  he  might 
renew  his  youth  —  indeed,  she  had  already 
called  into  fiery  life  all  the  most  ardent 
impulses  of  his  earliest  manhood.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  now  that  he  would 
make  it  his  first  business,  on  landing,  to 
204 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

get  himself  formally  introduced  to  her. 
He  had  satisfied  himself,  by  marks  on  their 
luggage,  that  their  destination  was  New 
York,  so  he  knew  he  was  not  in  danger 
of  losing  sight  of  them.  They  were  sure 
to  belong  to  his  own  world,  and  he  knew 
he  could  easily  make  their  acquaintance. 
As  he  sat  there,  so  near  her  that  by  a 
slight  turn  of  the  head  he  could  see  her, 
he  felt  impatient  at  the  formalities  and 
delays  which  must  be  gone  through  with, 
before  he  could  go  to  her  boldly  and  ask 
her  to  leave  the  irksome  thraldom  of  her 
life  with  her  rich,  old  aunt,  and  be  his 
wife.  That  was  exactly  what  he  had  to 
say  to  her,  with  as  little  circumlocution 
and  delay  as  possible.  His  mind  had 
never  been  more  definitely  made  up  about 
anything  in  his  life.  It  was  decidedly 
pleasing  to  him  to  think  of  her  as  poor, 
even  though  she  had  the  surroundings  of 
riches  and  luxury.  Still,  how  different  to 
be  in  the  really  independent  position  in 
which  he  could  place  her  ! 
205 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

A  little  thing  had  happened  one  day 
during  the  voyage,  that  had  touched  and 
pleased  him  intensely.  A  poor  man  had 
died  in  the  steerage,  and  a  subscription 
paper  was  sent  around  to  raise  money 
for  his  family.  When  Hertford  took 
it,  he  ran  his  eye  rather  eagerly  down 
the  column  of  names  and  figures  and  saw: 
"  Mrs.  Etheridge,  $100.00,"  and  under  it, 
"Miss  Shelton,  $1.00."  It  went  to  his 
heart  that  she  had  had  so  little  to  give, 
but  had  not  on  that  account  refrained 
from  giving  what  she  could.  "Shelton," 
he  kept  saying  over  and  over  to  himself, 
trying  in  vain  to  remember  if  he  had 
ever  known  any  one  of  the  name.  He 
knew  the  name  of  Etheridge  as  belonging 
to  a  rich  and  influential  family  in  New 
York,  but  could  recall  no  definite  ac 
quaintance  even  with  them. 

There  was  a  lovely  winter  sunset  that 

evening,  and  Hertford  felt  it  a  delight  that 

his  eyes  took  in  the   same  scene  as  hers, 

and    felt   that    the    same    emotions    were 

206 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

aroused  by  it  in  both  their  hearts.  When,  at 
last,  she  spoke  to  the  maid  and  rose  to  go 
below,  he  boldly  resolved  to  make  a  move 
at  the  same  time,  and  so  he  walked  the 
length  of  the  deck  behind  her,  and  fol 
lowed  her  through  the  door.  It  was  a 
delight  to  him  even  to  catch  the  tones  of 
her  voice  as  she  spoke  to  the  maid.  As 
they  turned  away  in  opposite  directions, 
their  looks  just  met.  How  was  it  possible, 
he  asked  himself,  that  he  could  feel  what 
he  did  from  the  touch  of  her  eyes,  and 
she  feel  nothing  ?  He  did  not  believe  it ! 

The  next  day  they  landed  at  New  York, 
and  he  saw  her  met  by  friends  whose  ardent 
feeling  showed  how  lovingly  welcome  she 
was.  They  whisked  her  away  in  a  hand 
some  carriage  whose  liveried  servants,  as 
Hertford  observed,  showed  far  more  pleas 
ure  in  their  faces  at  welcoming  the 
young  lady,  than  her  august  and  stately 
aunt. 

Hertford  was  accorded  a  cordial  welcome 
by  his  old  friends,  and  the  first  thing  he 
207 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

found  himself  called  upon  to  do  was  to 
attend  a  large  ball.  He  felt  disinclined  for 
it,  but  the  possibility  of  seeing  the  lovely 
face  that  haunted  every  sleeping  and  wak 
ing  minute  made  him  consent.  One  of 
his  former  circle  of  friends  insisted  on 
taking  him,  and  as  they  drove  through  the 
streets,  he  confided  to  Hertford  the  fact 
that  he  was  in  love,  and  that  he  expected 
to  see  at  this  ball  the  object  of  his  affec 
tion,  who,  it  appeared,  was  a  rich  and 
charming  widow.  The  former  of  these 
attributes  was  intimated  very  delicately, 
but  the  whole  thing  seemed  to  Hertford, 
in  his  present  romantic  state  of  mind,  re- 
voltingly  vulgar.  How  impossible  it  would 
be  to  confide  to  his  companion  the  feeling 
that  possessed  his  heart !  Any  allusion  to 
the  money  struck  him  as  being  unpardon 
able —  and  he  simply  could  not  understand 
a  man's  finding  it  possible  to  be  in  love  with 
a  widow.  He  thought  of  the  lovely 
maiden  on  whom  his  heart  was  fixed,  and 
the  mere  memory  of  her  fresh  young 
208 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

beauty  made  his  pulses  quicken.  But  he 
forced  himself  to  appear  interested,  and 
wished  his  companion  all  success  and  hap 
piness. 

"  The  success  would  certainly  secure 
the  happiness,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  the 
trouble  is  there  are  a  dozen  fellows,  besides 
me,  trying  to  marry  her,  and  she  declares 
she  will  marry  no  one." 

As  they  got  out  of  the  carriage  Hertford 
dismissed  the  subject  from  his  mind.  He 
had  not  yet  got  himself  up  to  the  point  of 
making  definite  inquiries  about  the  lady  of 
his  love,  and  it  seemed  to  him  now  impos 
sible  even  to  make  a  confidant  of  a  man 
whose  nature  could  permit  him  to  talk 
about  being  in  love  with  a  rich  widow ! 

As  the  two  men  walked  about  the  rooms 
together,  each  was  conscious  of  being  on 
the  watch,  but  Hertford,  for  his  part,  gave 
no  sign.  He  met  a  few  old  acquaintances 
who  remembered  him  still,  but  the  place 
was  very  barren  and  irksome  to  him,  in 
spite  of  its  magnificent  display,  when  sud- 
209 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

denly  his  companion  gave  his  arm  a  jerk 
and  said  :  "  There  she  is  !  " 

But  Hertford,  too,  had  caught  sight  of 
something  that  made  his  heart  thump  suffo 
catingly.  A  few  paces  from  him  was  a 
tall,  imposing,  angular  figure  with  a  familiar 
Roman  profile,  and  at  her  side  was  the 
adorable  being  he  had  so  worshippingly 
enshrined  in  his  heart,  looking  so  beautiful 
in  her  white  ball-dress  that  his  eyes  were 
dazzled  with  the  delight  of  this  vision. 
Again,  as  her  eyes  met  his,  he  felt  that 
their  spirits  had  touched.  Out  of  the 
delicious  confusion  caused  by  that  glance, 
he  was  roused  by  the  consciousness  that 
he  was  being  formally  introduced. 

"  My  friend  Mr.  Hertford,  Miss  Shel- 
ton  —  and  Mrs.  Etheridge." 

At  the  mention  of  the  former  name,  the 
tall  and  sharp-faced  lady  made  him  a  gra 
cious,  if  angular,  acknowledgment ;  at 
the  mention  of  the  latter,  the  beautiful 
young  creature  in  white  looked  up  into 
his  face  and  gave  him  a  frank  and  lovely 
210 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

smile.  She  seemed  even  to  half-extend 
her  hand,  and  was  beginning  to  speak, 
when  Hertford,  bewildered,  stunned,  and 
only  dimly  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  made  a  hurried  bow,  and  with  some 
excuse,  moved  rapidly  away. 

With  a  numbed  consciousness,  and  a 
bewilderment  that  scarcely  allowed  him  to 
realize  the  objects  before  his  eyes,  he  some 
how  got  through  the  rooms  and  out  into 
the  street,  and,  finally,  into  his  own  room 
at  the  hotel.  There  he  locked  himself 
in,  and,  without  turning  up  the  light,  threw 
himself  upon  his  face  on  the  bed.  After  ten 
minutes  of  such  fierce  unhappiness  as  he 
had  never  known  before,  he  got  up,  turned 
on  the  light,  and  looked  at  his  dishevelled 
figure  in  the  glass.  "  Have  I  been  cry 
ing  ?  "  he  said  to  himself,  seeing  that  his 
cheeks  were  flushed,  his  eyes  red,  and  his 
face  dampened  either  by  tears,  or  by  the 
sweat  of  pain.  With  his  nature,  roman 
tic,  sensitive,  the  blow  was  a  terrible  one. 

He    sat    down    in    a    chair,   thrust    his 

211 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

fingers  into  his  short  locks,  and  rested  his 
elbows  on  his  knees.  With  the  feeling  in 
him  that  he  could  not  give  up  this  woman, 
even  for  this,  he  began  to  struggle  with 
his  disappointment.  At  first,  it  seemed 
intolerable  that  she  had  once  belonged  to 
another  man  —  and  he  had  to  adjust  his 
whole  being  to  these  changed  conditions. 
He  realized  far  more  deeply  than  ever,  how 
he  had  fixed  his  very  soul  upon  her,  and 
he  resolved  to  go  on  and  win  her,  if  he 
could.  He  forced  himself  to  realize  the  fact 
that  she  had  loved  another  man,  and  had 
suffered  for  his  sake  the  pangs  of  widow 
hood.  It  was  some  consolation  to  him  to 
see  that  she  had  outlived  them,  and  he  was 
glad  that  youth  and  nature  had  asserted 
themselves  and  enabled  her  to  regain  her 
interest  in  life.  No,  he  could  not  give 
her  up,  without  her  own  refusal  to  be  his 
wife.  The  fact  that  she  had  money,  too, 
was  intensely  unpleasant  to  him.  It  was 
she  —  Mrs.  Etheridge  —  who  had  given 
the  hundred  dollars  to  the  poor  man,  and 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

her  arrogant-looking  aunt,  Miss  Shelton, 
who  had  given  the  one  dollar  !  The 
money  was  the  girl's,  then  —  and  she  was 
the  "  Rich  Lady,"  after  all  !  He  could 
not  get  used  to  the  idea. 

But  he  had  fought  out  the  fight  and 
choked  down  his  disappointment,  by  the 
time  the  ball  broke  up,  and  Tom  Ken 
nedy,  puzzled  by  his  friend's  strange  con 
duct,  came  in  search  of  him. 

When  Hertford,  in  his  disordered 
evening-dress,  admitted  him  in  answer  to 
his  knock,  he  was  able  to  make  up  some 
excuse  about  having  felt  a  sudden  vertigo 
in  the  heated  room,  etc.,  and  to  carry  it 
off  with  some  likeness  to  truth. 

"  By  Jove  !  I  do  n't  believe  she  half 
liked  your  leaving  —  the  lovely  widow,  I 
mean  !  (There  's  but  one  she  to  me  now  !) 
And  it  seems  you  had  crossed  on  the 
steamer  together  without  being  acquainted  ! 
It 's  a  wonder  she  even  noticed  you — but 
she  did  —  and  she  asked  three  or  four 
times  where  you  were  gone.  I  begin  to 
213 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

be  reconciled  to  your  going  back  so  soon, 
old  man.  She  takes  more  interest  in  you 
than  I  exactly  fancy." 

Hertford  let  him  run  on  with  this  flip 
pant  sort  of  talk,  for  the  sake  of  the  in 
formation  he  let  drop  now  and  then.  He 
discovered  that  the  haughty  individual  who 
acted  as  her  chaperon  was  in  reality  a  poor 
relation,  dependent  on  her  bounty  ;  though, 
as  Kennedy  said,  she  owed  everything  to 
this  aunt,  who  had  made  this  rich  match 
for  her,  and  had  married  her  to  a  husband 
who  died  in  a  year,  leaving  her  a  million 
aire.  This  made  Hertford  wince  with 
pain.  The  whole  interview  was  fright 
fully  trying,  and  he  was  relieved  to  be 
alone  at  last. 

He  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  a  rest 
less,  impatient  morning.  In  the  afternoon 
he  inquired  his  way  to  Mrs.  Etheridge's 
house,  and  rang  the  bell,  sending  in  his 
card  for  the  two  ladies.  Miss  Shelton,  it 
turned  out,  was  not  at  home,  but  after  a 
few  minutes  spent  in  a  magnificent  draw- 
214 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

ing-room,  down  the  long  vista  of  which 
he  could  see  into  other  superb  apartments 
beyond,  the  young  widow  came  to  him. 

Hertford  was  so  entirely  sure  that  they 
understood  each  other,  that  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  keep  from  asking  her,  then 
and  there,  to  be  his  wife.  The  restric 
tions  of  conventionality  prevailed,  how 
ever,  and  they  kept  to  mere  friendly  dis 
cussion  of  the  events  of  the  voyage,  and 
such  things.  It  was  so  free  and  delight 
ful,  however,  this  long  talk,  that  he  stayed 
on  and  on,  and  when  he  rose  to  go,  and 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  he  dared  to  hold 
it  a  second  longer  than  was  necessary,  and 
to  feel  that  the  touch  conveyed  a  message 
to  her  heart.  It  is  certain  that  she  blushed, 
as  he  looked  down  at  her,  and  that  the 
blush  made  her  a  hundred  times  more  be 
witching  to  his  heart  and  senses  than 
before. 

The  magnificence  of  the  grand  hall  that 
he  crossed  in  leaving  her,  and  the  sugges 
tions  of  great  wealth  that  he  saw  on  every 
2I5 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

side,  grated  upon  him,  but,  as  he  walked 
away  from  her  presence,  he  was  too  bliss 
fully  in  love  for  that  to  matter  much.  He 
felt  perfectly  certain,  in  spite  of  the  odious 
idea  suggested  by  his  friend's  coarse  way 
of  putting  things,  that  the  marriage  had 
been  a  love-match ;  for  it  was  absolutely  im 
possible  that  the  divinely  good,  and  sweet, 
and  modest  creature  from  whom  he  had  just 
parted,  ever  could  have  married  from  any 
motive  but  love.  He  even  got  up  a  sort 
of  emotion  of  pity  for  the  dead  man,  when 
he  thought  of  what  had  been  lost  to  him, 
and  yet  he  felt  any  dealing  of  fate  to  be 
merciful,  which  opened  to  him  the  only 
chance  of  supreme  and  ideal  happiness, 
which  his  life  had  ever  offered. 

He  spent  the  next  day  with  lawyers, 
absorbed  in  business  affairs.  In  the  even 
ing  he  went  to  the  theater,  where  he  saw 
the  woman  he  loved  surrounded  by  a  gay 
party.  But  she  looked  at  him,  as  he  passed, 
with  a  look  that  thrilled  to  his  heart's 
core,  and  all  through  the  play  he  was  happy 
216 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

in  the  sense  that  she  thought  of  him,  and 
even  furtively  watched  him.  Coming  out, 
he  met  Tom  Kennedy,  who  walked  along 
the  street  with  him,  beginning  at  once  to 
speak  of  Mrs.  Etheridge.  Hertford,  with 
a  certain  reluctance,  asked  some  question 
about  Mr.  Etheridge.  He  felt  jealous  of 
the  man,  and  at  the  same  time,  sorry  for 
him.  He  inquired  how  long  he  had  been 
dead. 

"  O,  three  years,  or  such  a  matter. 
She  's  only  just  come  back  into  the  gay 
world.  No  one  can  say  she  did  not  play 
her  part  with  propriety.  It  was  even  more 
than  could  have  been  expected  from  a  girl 
of  twenty,  to  go  into  such  long  retirement 
for  a  husband  four  times  her  age." 

"  What  !  "  said  Hertford,  in  a  low,  con 
tained  voice,  swerving  a  little  in  his  gait, 
but  otherwise  apparently  calm. 

"O,  he  must  have  been  well  on  to  eighty, 

I  should  think,"  replied  the  other,  "though 

his  wretched  old  body  was  cosmetized  and 

bolstered    up    with     the    utmost     care    to 

217 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

the  last.  By  the  way  —  you  saw  him  ! 
Do  n't  you  remember  our  laughing  at  the 
decrepit  old  dandy  at  the  races  that  day 
when  Hotspur  won  ?  — the  old  fellow  who 
tried  so  hard  to  give  a  cheer,  but  could  n't 
get  up  the  voice,  and  who  incessantly 
'wrestled  with  his  false  teeth,'  as  I  remem 
ber  you  put  it?  That  was  Etheridge. 
Do  n't  you  remember  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hertford,  coldly,  "  I  re 
member  him  distinctly." 

A  moment  later,  he  had  excused  himself 
and  returned  to  his  hotel. 

The  next  day,  and  the  day  after, 
he  applied  himself  very  closely  to  busi 
ness,  and  was  so  successful  in  getting 
through  with  it,  that  he  caught  the  same 
steamer  on  its  return  trip,  and  started  back 
to  St.  Petersburg. 

He  had  been  gone  a  month,  perhaps, 
when  Mrs.  Etheridge,  who  had  been 
little  seen  by  her  friends,  either  in  society, 
or  at  her  own  house,  said  abruptly  one 
day  to  Tom  Kennedy,  to  whom  she  had 

21? 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

not  been  at  home  once  since  Hertford's 
departure  : 

"  Mr.  Hertford  once  lived  in  New 
York — did  he  not  ?  " 

u  O,  yes  —  born  and  raised  here,"  was 
the  off-hand  response. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  facing  him 
unswervingly,  though  her  cheeks  reddened, 
"  do  you  know  whether  he  ever  saw  my  — 
I  mean  Mr.  Etheridge?  Did  he  know 
him  ?  " 

"  No  —  he  never  knew  him,  I  'm  sure, 
but  he  saw  him  once  at  the  races.  I  was 
reminding  him  of  it  the  last  evening  I  saw 
him.  But  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  I  merely  wondered  if  they  ever  met," 
she  answered,  carelessly.  "  I  never  heard 
my  husband  speak  of  him."  She  said  the 
word  out  boldly  this  time. 

"  No  —  I  fancy  not,"  said  Kennedy. 
"  They  were  not  friends  at  all.  In  fact, 
Hertford  had  no  idea  he  was  the  man  you 
had  married,  until  I  told  him." 

Kennedy  was  a  little  dull,  and  he  won- 
219 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

dered  now,  why  in  the  world  she  was  in 
teresting  herself  in  such  a  trivial  matter. 

He  had  joined  Mrs.  Etheridge  on  the 
street,  and  he  walked  home  with  her.  When 
they  reached  her  handsome  residence,  and 
the  doors  were  thrown  open,  she  did  not 
ask  him  to  come  in,  but  said  good-bye 
rather  abruptly.  She  crossed  the  magnifi 
cent  hall  and  walked  with  a  firm  step  up 
the  grand  staircase.  Then,  entering  her 
own  splendid  apartment,  she  locked  her 
self  in  and  stood  silent  a  few  moments. 
Then  she  spoke  aloud,  safe  from  being 
heard  in  that  lofty  vastness. 

"  That  was  the  man  I  could  have 
loved,"  she  said,  "  the  man  I  do  love ! 
And  I  might  have  married  him  !  " 

In  a  second,  she  added,  in  a  tone  grown 
thick  and  indistinct  with  tears  : 

"  And  he  loves  me,  too  !  I  know  he 
does — or  did,  until  he  knew  !  " 

She  stretched  out  her  arms,  with  her 
hands  clenched  hard,  and  saw  herself  re 
flected  from  every  side  in  splendidly- 


A  Bartered  Birthright 

framed  mirrors,  which  gave  back  her 
image,  from  head  to  feet,  in  her  elegant 
French  costume.  They  showed  her,  too, 
the  innumerable  beauties  of  her  luxurious 
rooms,  hung  with  satin  and  carpeted  with 
velvet. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  horror,  and  shut  out 
the  vision  with  her  hands.  Her  birth 
right  was  gone,  and  this  was  her  mess  of 
pottage ! 


221 


His  Heart's  Desire 


His  Heart's  Desire 

It  was  a  beautiful  country  through 
which  the  Aroona  River  ran;  so  beautiful 
that  at  last,  after  ages  of  unmolested  re 
pose,  a  railroad  had  been  built  along  the 
top  of  the  mountain  ridge,  and  tourists  had 
begun  to  talk  of  its  attractions.  As  yet, 
however,  they  knew  the  fertile  little  valley 
only  from  a  distance.  The  point  most 
admired  by  the  passengers  on  those  flying 
trains,  was  that  where  the  Aroona  lay 
beneath  them,  like  a  great  tin  funnel  on 
its  side.  They  could  see  it,  in  one  place, 
broad  and  placid,  and  could  follow  dis 
tinctly  its  sharp  and  sudden  compression 
into  a  passage  forced  between  two  great 
walls  of  rock,  where  it  seethed  and  rushed 
through  the  contracted  space  representing 
the  stem  of  the  funnel.  This  was  called 
225 


His  Heart's  Desire 

The  Narrows,  and  below  it  was  The  Falls 
—  a  foaming  cataract  that  dashed  relent 
lessly  over  great,  dangerous-looking  rocks. 

Perhaps  the  passing  tourists  sometimes 
wondered  what  sort  of  men  and  women 
they  were,  who  lived  in  the  odd,  misshapen 
little  houses,  bunched  together  to  form 
the  tiny  village,  which  was  not  much  more 
than  a  dot  on  the  landscape.  It  soon 
passed  out  of  sight,  and  they  thought  of  it 
no  more,  and  yet  it  is  likely  that  they 
were  more  concerned  about  these  obscure 
country  people,  whose  very  isolation  made 
them  interesting  to  speculative  minds,  than 
the  latter  allowed  themselves  to  be  con 
cerned  about  the  occupants  of  the  trains, 
which,  twice  a  day,  darted  along  the  high 
horizon  line,  almost  as  swift  and  mysteri 
ous  as  meteors  crossing  the  heavens. 
They  were  tranquil-minded,  unimaginative 
people,  and  lived  their  lives  and  died  their 
deaths  in  this  distant  valley  of  the  earth, 
without  much  interest  in  what  lay  beyond. 

On  the  outskirts  of  this  village  was  a 
226 


His  Heart's  Desire 

house  conspicuously  superior  to  the  rest. 
It  was  built  on  a  slight  elevation  of 
land,  and  had  some  claim  to  ornament  and 
architectural  display.  It  was  also  supplied 
with  comfortable  outhouses  and  enclosed 
grounds. 

Back  of  this  house,  beyond  the  commo 
dious  barn,  was  a  little  well-worn  pathway, 
which  led  through  the  large  vegetable  gar 
den  down  to  what  had  once  been  an  old 
dairy  and  spring-house.  The  spring  was 
long  since  dried  up,  and  the  building  would 
perhaps  have  fallen  into  disuse,  had  it  not 
been  that  someone  had  taken  possession 
of  it  and  put  it  to  a  decidedly  novel  purpose. 
Almost  one-half  of  it  was  occupied  by  a 
grand  piano.  Lying  on  top  of  this  was  a 
violin-case  carefully  closed,  a  lot  of  loose 
music,  some  bits  of  charcoal,  some  dilapi 
dated  paint-tubes,  a  very  dirty  palette,  and 
other  odds  and  ends  of  accumulated  litter. 

On  the  walls,  and  scattered  all  about  in 
various  stages  of  incompleteness,  were 
sketches  in  oil,  water-color,  and  charcoal, 
227 


His  Heart's  Desire 

all  unmistakably  bad,  and  yet  with  a  qual 
ity  in  them  that  indicated  that  the  mind 
had  had  something  to  express,  in  spite  of 
the  impotency  of  the  hands.  The  room 
was  dusty  and  disordered,  and  smelt 
strongly  of  tobacco,  but  the  windows  were 
open,  and  this  odor  was  forced  to  give 
place,  now  and  then,  to  the  fresh,  keen 
breath  of  the  blooms  of  the  honeysuckle 
vines,  which  hung  in  green  density  over 
the  rickety  porch  without.  There  had 
been  a  heavy  rain,  and  the  wet  sweetness 
was  delicious. 

The  path  through  the  old  vegetable- 
garden  had  been  carefully  cleared  at  the 
important  period  known  as  "  garden-mak 
ing  time,"  but  now,  in  late  summer,  the 
weeds  and  grass  had  so  encroached  upon 
it  as  to  make  it  almost  as  wet  as  the  cab 
bage  and  potato  patches  on  each  side. 

Down  this  path,  stepping  very  cau 
tiously,  there  came  now  a  man  and  a  child. 
The  former  was  tall,  thin,  and  much  bent 
in  figure.  His  hair  and  beard  were  scant 
228 


His  Heart's  Desire 

in  quantity,  and  almost  white.  He  had 
deep  lines  in  his  face,  such  as  could  only 
have  been  made  there  by  age  or  sorrow. 
His  features  were  without  beauty,  and 
quite  unremarkable,  except  the  eyes,  which 
had  a  look  that  caught  and  fixed  the  atten 
tion.  That  look,  one  of  earnest  beseech 
ing,  was  turned  now  upon  the  child,  whose 
little  hand  was  clasped  in  his  great  bony 
one,  and  who  kept  up  with  his  shuffling 
stride  by  a  little  skipping  motion,  which 
bobbed  her  bright  head  up  and  down  and 
seemed  directly  connected  with  the  inar 
ticulate  murmurs  which  came  from  her 
lips,  expressive  of  a  totally  irrelevant  and 
irresponsible  joyousness.  Her  little  calico 
frock  was  neatly  made,  well-fitting  and 
clean,  while  the  clothing  of  the  man 
looked,  by  contrast,  almost  piteously 
shabby  and  uncouth.  His  hair,  too,  was 
long,  and  straggled  over  his  ears,  meeting 
and  mixing  with  his  beard  in  confused  dis 
order.  The  child  was  captivatingly  pretty. 
Her  nose  was  a  queer  little  pug,  her  eyes 
229 


His  Heart's  Desire 

were  enormously  big  and  round.  Her  flesh 
was  deliciously  smooth,  and  her  hair  was 
curly  gold,  that,  freely  exposed  to  the  sun 
light,  gave  back  shining  for  shining.  She 
was  not  more  than  four  or  five  years  old, 
plump  and  chubby  in  figure,  and  seemed 
to  give  out  an  exuberant  happiness,  brighter 
than  birds  or  butterflies. 

As  the  path  got  lower  down  the  hillside, 
the  dampness  of  the  undergrowth  increased, 
so  that  the  child's  feet  were  in  danger  of 
getting  wet.  Noticing  this  fact,  the  man 
stooped  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms.  Even 
this  did  not  stop  the  sort  of  physical  bub- 
bling-over,  which  she  had  been  keeping  up, 
and  she  still  dipped  and  nodded  from  her 
perch,  and  uttered  her  little  gleeful  gurgles, 
as  if  her  heart  had  more  joy  than  it  could 
silently  contain. 

When  they  reached  the  gloomy  little 
house,  the  man  was  very  careful  to  close 
the  door  behind  him,  and  his  next  action 
was  to  draw  before  the  window  the  muslin 
curtains,  which  had  once  been  white,  but 
330 


His  Heart's  Desire 

were  now  dust-stained  and  weather-beaten. 
Then,  with  the  air  of  old  habit,  he  placed 
the  child  among  the  tumbled  cushions  of 
the  sofa,  saying,  as  he  carefully  felt  first 
one  foot,  and  then  the  other: 

"  Rose-Jewel  must  n't  get  her  feet  wet. 
Mamma  would  n't  like  that.  No,  they  're 
all  right.  And,  now,  must  I  tell  you  a 
story  ? " 

The  child  shook  her  head  in  decided  re 
jection  of  this  idea,  and  said  in  an  imperi 
ous  voice: 

"No,  play." 

He  did  not  speak  at  once,  but  reached 
up  and  took  the  shapeless  old  hat  from  his 
head,  and,  with  a  sudden  jerk,  shook  back 
ward  the  thin  locks  which  straggled  over 
his  forehead.  There  was  unmistakable 
gratification  in  his  face,  as  of  one  who  had 
received  a  welcome  invitation  for  which 
he  had  been  too  humble  to  look. 

One  would  have  thought  it  likely  that 
the  child,  when  she  spoke,  would  call 
him  "Grandpapa,"  but  she  turned  her 
231 


His  Heart's  Desire 

insistent  gaze  upon  him  now  and  said  per 
emptorily  : 

"  Play,  Papa,  play  ! " 

As  he  crossed  over  to  where  his  violin- 
case  lay,  there  had  come  a  sudden  buoy 
ancy  into  his  figure,  and  as  he  lifted  the 
instrument  carefully  from  its  case  and  be 
gan  to  tune  it,  his  face,  too,  was  fervid  and 
alert.  The  fact  became  evident  now,  that 
he  was  not  an  old  man.  There  was  all 
the  strength  of  youth  in  the  sudden  motion 
with  which  he  braced  his  shoulder  to  the 
violin,  and  all  the  fire  of  youth  was  in  his 
eyes. 

The  child  looked  upward  into  his  face, 
and  smiled.  He  returned  the  smile,  and 
with  a  bright  nod  of  encouragement  and 
promise,  he  broke  into  the  gay  movement 
of  a  little  dance  tune,  played  with  extraor 
dinary  brilliancy  of  execution. 

"  How's  that,  baby  ?   Here  we  go  !   Now 

the  pretty  lady  is  going  down  the  line  and 

holding  up  her  pink  silk  dress.      Listen  to 

that !     And  now  they  are  all  catching  hands 

232 


His  Heart's  Desire 

and  whirling  round  and  round,  and  every 
body  is  laughing  —  and  here  goes  the  music 
like  this  !" 

As  he  fiddled  away  at  the  merry  tune, 
bending  about,  and  jerking  his  head  and 
elbows,  the  child  got  into  a  state  of  ecstatic 
glee,  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  aloud, 
and  finally  slipped  off  the  sofa,  caught  up 
her  skirts,  and  began  to  dance.  It  was 
done  with  the  tottering,  uneven  motion  of 
a  baby,  but  there  was  extraordinary  vim  in 
it,  and  as  the  music  got  every  moment 
gayer  and  faster,  she  jumped  and  whirled 
about,  until  her  companion,  with  a  wild 
laugh  of  delight  threw  down  violin  and  bow, 
and  caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  covering 
her  with  kisses,  and  jumping  about,  him 
self,  in  rather  a  mad  fashion,  with  the  music 
in  his  blood,  as  well  as  hers.  Then  grow 
ing  calmer  he  put  her  back  upon  her 
cushions,  and  taking  up  his  violin,  said 
soothingly : 

"  Now  Rose-Jewel 's  tired,  and  Papa  's 
going  to  make  her  rested.  Sit  still,  dar- 
233 


His  Heart's  Desire 

ling,  a  little  while,  and  see  if  you  do  n't 
feel  as  if  you  were  in  a  lovely  little  cradle 
with  soft  blue  ribbons  on  it,  and  a  little 
bird  singing  on  the  window  sill.  Now 
listen  for  the  little  bird." 

He  drew  the  bow  across  the  strings 
once,  twice,  with  long  minor  tones,  and 
then  he  began  the  bit  of  descriptive  impro 
vising.  "The  child  sank  back  in  the  cush 
ions,  and  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  ease. 
When  the  motion  of  the  cradle  was  indi 
cated,  she  rocked  her  little  body  slightly, 
from  side  to  side,  and  closed  her  eyes  luxu 
riously.  Then,  with  his  gaze  fixed  on  her 
face,  and  with  an  intensity  of  fervid  feeling 
that  made  him  almost  beautiful,  the  musi 
cian  touched  some  short  staccato  notes 
that  made  a  little  cheeping  sound,  to  which 
the  child  delightedly  responded  by  saying  : 

"Birdie!  Birdie!  Birdie!"  and  made 
an  infantine  effort  to  snap  her  plump  fin 
gers. 

The  man's  face  grew  radiant.  Holding 
aside  the  violin  in  one  hand  and  the  bow  in 
234 


His  Heart's  Desire 

the  other,  he  took  a  few  steps  toward  her, 
bent  down,  and  kissed  first  one,  and  then 
the  other  of  the  soles  of  her  little  shoes, 
which  were  covered  with  fine  grains  of 
damp  sand,  that  he  felt  against  his  lips. 

"  The  good  God  gave  you  to  me,  Rose- 
Jewel,"  he  said.  "  Put  your  hands  to 
gether  while  I  play  Him  a  prayer  of 
thanks." 

Unquestioningly,  the  child  placed  her 
two  hands  palm  to  palm,  and  looked  up 
reverently,  as  he  began  to  play. 

It  was  a  strange,  wild,  sweet  Te  Deum 
that  rose  now  and  filled  the  little  room. 
The  very  heart  of  praise  was  in  it,  the  very 
soul  of  thankfulness.  The  man's  dark 
eyes,  for  the  time,  had  lost  sight  of  the  gift 
in  the  Giver,  and  were  turned  upward  to 
the  dingy  ceiling,  that  was  soon  obscured 
by  tears.  The  large  drops  rolled  from  his 
lids  and  ran  down  his  cheeks.  His  face 
grew  strained  and  seamed  with  agitation, 
and  a  thick  sob  rose  in  his  throat.  Still 
he  played  on  with  that  rapt,  uplifted  gaze, 


His  Heart's  Desire 

until  a  sound  from  the  sofa  recalled  him, 
and  he  started,  and  lowered  his  bow-arm 
with  a  sudden  movement  of  dismay. 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Rose- 
Jewel,  too,  and  her  little  heart,  which  he 
felt  should  know  only  the  joy  of  praise, 
was  tasting  too  soon  its  sorrow  and  solem 
nity.  As  one  quick,  sharp  sob  followed 
another  he  felt  a  sudden  deep  contrition 
stab  him,  and  lifting  his  bow  again,  he  be 
gan  to  play  in  a  quieting,  comforting,  re 
assuring  strain,  interspersed  with  words 
that  matched  it. 

"  The  dear  God  loves  us  both,  Rose- 
Jewel,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  us  to  be 
happy  and  bright,  and  not  cry  or  get  fright 
ened.  He  sends  us  beautiful  angels  to 
take  care  of  us,  and  make  us  go  to  sleep, 
and  have  sweet  dreams.  Listen  to  this 
now,  and  see  if  you  do  n't  hear  them  flying 
into  the  room." 

The  child  ceased  sobbing,  and  listened 
with  earnest  attentiveness,  and  by  and  by 
he  had  the  joy  of  seeing  her  fall  into  a 
236 


His  Heart's  Desire 

gentle  sleep.  He  played  on,  pleasing  him 
self  with  the  idea  that  his  music  repre 
sented  to  her,  in  her  sleep,  the  dreams  the 
angels  brought. 

At  last,  when  she  had  sunk  into  a  slum 
ber  too  deep  for  dreams,  and  even  the  sob 
bing  breaths  of  her  scarcely  spent  emotion 
were  stilled,  he  gently  laid  by  his  violin 
and  came  and  sat  down  beside  her.  He 
placed  himself,  with  extreme  care  not  to 
disturb  her,  at  the  bottom  of  the  sofa  upon 
which  she  lay.  His  eyes  lingered  on  her 
a  moment,  and  then  wandered  around  the 
room.  The  poor  sketches  on  the  walls, 
all  so  weak  and  ineffectual,  looked  back  at 
him  sadly,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  and  the 
piano  was  another  reproach. 

This  man  —  Hugh  Eastin  —  had  once 
thought  that  he  would  be  a  great  musician, 
and  many  years  of  hard  study  had  made 
him  rather  a  distinguished  one,  within  a 
limited  field  ;  but  nothing  had  come  of  it. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  in  the  impulsive 
way  in  which  he  did  things,  he  had  married, 
237 


His  Heart's  Desire 

and  of  that  marriage  he  was  the  victim. 
He  did  not  say  so  to  himself;  perhaps  he 
did  not  even  know  it ;  but  the  paralysis 
which  had  fastened  on  his  mind  and  soul 
was  directly  the  result  of  his  marriage. 
It  would  hardly  have  been  possible  for  him 
to  realize  this,  as  he  had  enthusiastically 
agreed  with  all  his  friends  that  he  was  an 
extraordinarily  fortunate  man  to  win  for  a 
wife  the  pretty,  virtuous,  healthy,  good- 
tempered  young  girl,  who  was  known  to  be 
the  heiress  of  the  neighborhood  from  which 
she  came.  Her  father  had  manifested  the 
ambition  he  had  for  his  only  child,  by  send 
ing  her  off  to  the  city  to  be  educated,  and 
she  had  not  graduated  at  school  before  the 
young  musician,  who  gave  lessons  to  the 
advanced  pupils,  had  seen  and  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  had  obtained  her  consent,  as 
well  at  that  of  her  father,  to  their  marriage. 
The  engagement  might  have  been  suffi 
ciently  long  to  give  them  an  opportunity 
to  discover  their  unfitness  for  each  other, 
had  it  not  been  that  the  girl's  father  died 
238 


His  Heart's  Desire 

very  suddenly.  It  was  then  decided  that, 
as  she  had  no  near  relations  to  be  respon 
sible  for  her,  she  should  be  married  at  once. 
The  wedding  was  therefore  hastened,  and 
he  found  himself,  almost  before  he  could 
realize  the  change  in  the  current  of  his 
life,  settled  at  the  obscure  country  place, 
which  his  wife  resolutely  determined  never 
to  leave,  and  all  his  dreams  of  foreign 
study,  and  achievement  in  his  art  were  sud 
denly  in  ashes. 

It  took  him  many  a  day  to  realize  the 
inevitableness  of  his  present  environment, 
and  when  at  last  he  looked  it  in  the  face, 
it  bewildered  him.  He  was  married  to  a 
woman  as  severely  practical  in  her  ideas, 
and  systematic  in  her  life,  as  he  was  vision 
ary  and  erratic.  She  was  stronger  than 
he,  both  in  nature  and  character,  and 
the  habit  of  yielding  to  her  had  now 
become  the  absolute  rule  of  his  life. 
Very  shortly  after  their  marriage  she  had 
found  his  music  an  inconvenience,  and 
although  she  had  made  no  outward  objec- 
239 


His  Heart's  Desire 

tion  to  the  arrival  of  the  grand  piano,  she 
had,  when  it  suited  her,  accomplished  its 
removal  to  the  old  outhouse,  where  no  one 
could  be  disturbed  by  it.  It  was  not  so 
much  the  noise  she  minded,  as  the  sight  of 
useless  hours  and  misdirected  energies. 
On  coming  into  her  property  she  had 
shown  herself  a  capable  business  woman, 
and  she  managed  the  large  farming  opera 
tions  in  connection  with  it  with  ability  and 
success.  It  had  never  seemed  to  occur  to 
her  to  commit  these  matters  to  her  hus 
band,  and  he  felt  it  a  deep  relief  that  he 
was  spared  an  effort  which  he  knew  would 
have  ended  in  failure.  Early  in  their 
married  life  he  had  suspected  that  his  wife 
felt  her  marriage  to  have  been  a  foolish 
one,  and  as  time  went  on  the  certainty 
of  this  conviction  settled  upon  him.  But 
then  came  the  children,  and  in  them,  with 
out  doubt,  she  was  more  than  compensated 
for  her  disappointment  in  her  husband. 

She  was  a  woman  of  great  shrewdness, 
and  her  decision  that  her  husband  had  no 


His  Heart's  Desire 

capacity  in  him  but  music,  once  made,  she 
ceased  to  expect  anything  but  music  from 
him.  For  herself,  she  had  no  respect  for 
music  as  an  art,  and  no  perception  of  it  as 
an  enjoyment,  and  she  did  not  scruple  to 
say  so.  One  day  her  husband  heard  her 
say  to  a  friend,  that  she  prayed  every 
morning  and  evening  of  her  life  that  she 
might  never  have  a  musical  child.  He 
never  forgot  that  moment.  It  was  not 
said  to  him,  but  she  evidently  had  no  ob 
jection  to  his  hearing  it.  It  was  only  an 
incidental  remark,  and  the  two  women 
went  on  with  the  discussion  of  household 
affairs,  from  which  it  had  been  an  off-shoot. 
As  for  Eastin,  his  heart-strings  tightened, 
his  breath  came  quick,  his  throat  hurt  him, 
and  his  eyeballs  grew  hot  with  the  repres 
sion  of  tears.  A  sick  terror  seemed  to 
take  possession  of  him,  and  when  he  turned 
and  walked  to  the  window,  his  eyes  seemed 
to  look  out  on  absolute  despair. 

For  he,  poor  fellow,  had  been  praying  a 
prayer,  too  —  the  one  consistent,    fervid, 
241 


His  Heart's  Desire 

passionately  persevered  in  prayer  of  his 
life.  Night,  and  morning,  and  at  noonday, 
whether  on  his  knees  or  walking  in  the 
fields  or  wandering  along  the  river  banks, 
or  oftener  still,  when  he  held  his  precious 
violin  beneath  his  chin,  that  prayer  arose 
with  suddenly  uplifted  eyes  to  the  great 
God  whose  power  was  infinite,  and  who 
could,  if  He  would,  give  him  his  heart's 
desire  —  a  child  with  the  musical  gift.  He 
longed,  too,  that  this  child  might  have  a  na 
ture  and  heart  to  comprehend  and  sympa 
thize  with  his,  though  his  wish  he  did  not 
put  into  words.  He  felt  absolutely  sure 
that  the  greater  would  contain  the  less,  and 
that  if  the  music  were  there  the  sympathy 
could  not  lack.  He  knew  his  wife  was 
right  in  holding  that  the  musical  faculty, 
alone,  was  a  blessing  to  no  one,  and  his 
hope  was  that  this  child  might  inherit  from 
its  mother  the  decision,  industry  and  capa- 
bleness  that  would  complement  the  gift 
of  music,  which  was  the  one  thing  of  him 
self  that  he  felt  he  could  wish  any  child 
242 


His  Heart's  Desire 

of  his  to  possess.  He  was  acutely  aware 
that  his  life  was  a  failure  —  that  he  had 
lacked  the  capacity  to  put  his  musical  power 
to  any  use.  He  had  worked  hard  over  it 
for  years,  and  although  people  had  praised 
and  admired  his  music,  no  advancement  or 
recognition  amounting  to  anything  had 
come  of  it.  He  knew  that  it  was  his  own 
fault  —  he  claimed  no  sympathy  for  him 
self  and  no  merit.  He  wished  that  the  child 
might  have  all  the  traits  that  he  lacked, 
but  he  passionately  wished,  also,  that  it 
might  have  one  thing  that  he  possessed  — 
this  spirit  of  music,  that  was  to  him  alter 
nately  a  devil  of  despair  and  an  angel  of 
consolation.  Surely,  surely,  if  another 
being  should  possess  an  inward  prompting 
such  as  his,  something  would  come  of  it! 
Surely,  no  other  creature  who  possessed  it 
could  be  so  handicapped  by  the  impotent 
body  and  incapable  mind,  which  he  knew 
to  be  its  accompaniment  in  him! 

Dreams   of  that  child  were    the   theme 
of    all    his  aspirations   and    imaginations, 

243 


His  Heart's  Desire 

and  when,  in  the  midst  of  some  uplifting 
strain  of  music,  he  realized  that  it  was 
absolutely  a  possibility  — a  thing  that  might 
simply  and  naturally  come  about,  he  would 
sometimes  utter  his  soul  in  such  sounds  of 
harmony,  that  again  would  come  the  old 
haunting  thought  of  composing  some 
grand  oratorio  or  opera,  and  he  would  begin 
desperately  to  try  to  get  down  on  paper 
the  music  in  his  soul. 

Sometimes  the  fit  of  exaltation  and 
hope  would  last  for  hours,  but  it  was 
enough  to  be  brought  for  one  moment  into 
contact  with  the  realities  around  him  to 
stop  it  all.  A  summons  to  dinner  would 
come,  perhaps,  and,  if  obeyed,  the  atmos 
phere  produced  by  this  change  of  scene 
was  fatal.  If  he  ventured  to  disregard 
such  a  summons,  he  felt  the  pall  of  cold 
ness  and  disapproval  hanging  over  him, 
and  that  feeling  crippled  him.  It  was  a 
favorite  remark  of  his  wife,  that  consid 
ering  how  little  she  required  or  expected 
of  him,  she  thought  she  had  a  right  to 
244 


His  Heart's  Desire 

demand  that  he  should  be  regular  at  meals, 
and  should  not  counteract  the  lesson  of 
punctuality  which  she  tried  to  instil  into 
her  children.  He  felt  the  force  of  this, 
and  stifled  his  complaints,  living  in  dread 
of  meal-time,  and  often  prevented  by  this 
dread  from  making  any  progress  at  all. 

When  the  heavy  discouragement  which 
came  from  his  continually  frustrated  efforts 
settled  down  upon  him,  he  grew  moody 
and  silent,  and  feeling  that  he  was  a  drone 
in  this  busy  household,  he  would  seek  the 
wide  and  unreproaching  fields,  or  sit  by  the 
placid  river  bank,  and  content  himself  for 
hours  imagining  what  would  happen  if  the 
wonder-child  he  dreamed  of  should  be 
born  to  him.  His  own  life  and  career 
were  utterly  without  hope,  but  now  he 
could  live  again  a  better,  fuller,  freer  life 
in  this  fresh  young  one,  unhampered  by 
inherent  difficulties  and  self-made  hin 
drances. 

As  time  went  on  his  life  became  daily 
more  circumscribed  and  aimless.  His 
245 


His  Heart's  Desire 

wife,  with  her  usual  shrewdness,  had  dis 
covered  that  any  effort  to  make  a  farmer 
and  a  man  of  business  of  him  would  be 
folly,  and  had  long  ago  given  it  up.  By 
degrees,  she  seemed  to  expect  less  and  less 
of  him,  accepted  the  evident  and  inevitable, 
and  ordered  the  life  of  her  household  in 
complete  independence  of  him.  She  was 
a  woman  who  felt  it  important  to  have 
the  approval  of  her  conscience  and  her 
neighbors,  and  both  the  one  and  the  other 
acquitted  her  of  blame  concerning  her  duty 
as  a  wife.  Sometimes  people  expressed 
wonder  at  her  great  patience  with  such 
a  husband  —  a  thing  that  she  never  encour 
aged  them  to  say  —  but  she  felt  that  she 
deserved  the  tribute,  and  in  this  opinion 
her  husband  concurred.  The  task  in  life 
to  which  she  set  herself  with  the  greatest 
fervor  was  to  counteract  in  her  children 
any  tendency  to  resemble  their  father.  So 
far,  there  had  been  slight  indication  of 
anything  of  the  sort,  and  after  having 
borne  four  little  counterparts  of  herself  in 
246 


His  Heart's  Desire 

dispositions  and  tastes,  she  had  almost 
ceased  to  dread  a  reproduction  of  her 
husband. 

In  the  same  way  Eastin  had  almost 
ceased  to  hope  for  that  which  she  dreaded. 
In  four  instances  had  he  gone  through  that 
agitating  conjecture,  and  wonder,  and  hope, 
and  fear,  and  hung  eagerly  upon  every 
sign  of  baby  intelligence  that  he  saw. 
He  would  make  occasions  for  taking  the 
babies — the  first,  the  second,  the  third, 
the  fourth,  consecutively — apart  from 
every  observer,  and  would  hum  or  whistle 
different  tunes  to  them,  play  furtively  on  a 
little  music-box  he  had  procured  for  the 
purpose,  and  even  —  when  he  could  keep 
them  long  enough  from  their  watchful 
mother's  observation  —  try  the  effect  of 
playing  to  them  on  his  piano  or  violin, 
after  having  propped  them  safely  on  the 
sofa  where  he  could  watch  every  expres 
sion  that  crossed  their  little  faces. 

Few  souls,  the  greatest  and  strongest,  can 
have  known  deeper  pain  than  that  endured 
247 


His  Heart's  Desire 

by  this  starved  and  eager  man,  as  the  result 
of  all  these  experiments.  If  by  any  chance 
an  illusive  look  or  smile  led  him  to  believe 
that  for  which  he  so  thirsted  was  at  last 
held  to  his  lips,  the  disappointment  which 
followed  was  only  the  keener.  Each  one 
of  his  children,  boys  and  girls,  had  proved 
to  be  almost  mysteriously  like  their  mother. 
He  used  to  wonder  at  this,  and  at  times 
some  bitterness  mingled  with  the  wonder 
in  his  gentle  breast.  Were  they  not  his 
children,  too  ?  Why  was  it  that,  as  if  by  in 
stinct,  each  one  of  them  would  range  itself 
with  their  mother,  while  he  stood  perpet 
ually  alone  ?  The  paternal  instinct,  at 
first  so  profoundly  stirred  in  him,  grew 
weak  and  meaningless,  as  the  sure  devel 
opment  of  time  would  place  the  child  by 
nature  and  instinct,  and  later  by  choice, 
with  his  wife  and  her  other  children. 

In  every  instance,  the  children,  begin 
ning  with  indifference  about  music,  grew 
to  dislike  it,  encouraged  by  their  mother, 
who   always    showed   her   approval    when 
248 


His  Heart's  Desire 

this  feeling  was  manifested.  It  was  simple 
and  explicable  enough.  The  mother  was 
a  strong,  compelling,  intensely  alive  per 
sonality,  whose  importance  and  authority 
everyone  recognized,  while  the  father  was 
gentle,  deprecating  and  insignificant,  and 
it  was  not  hard  for  the  intuition  of  child 
hood  to  discover  that  he  was  tolerated 
rather  than  approved.  There  were  even 
occasions  upon  which  they  had  heard  him 
laughed  at  and  turned  into  amiable  ridicule. 
Once,  in  the  presence  of  the  older  chil 
dren,  some  neighbors  had  come  to  make  a 
visit,  one  of  the  number  being  so  unusually 
experienced  for  that  country  as  to  have 
lived  for  a  winter  in  the  city  where  Eastin 
had  met  his  wife.  This  woman,  whose 
face  and  voice  had  a  certain  quality  of 
sympathy  which  touched  his  heart,  drew 
Eastin  into  conversation  —  a  thing  which 
scarcely  any  one  ever  took  the  trouble  to 
do.  She  remembered  to  have  heard  him 
play  at  a  concert  with  a  very  beautiful 
young  girl,  who  had  been  compelled  by 
249 


His  Heart's  Desire 

illness  to  stop  in  the  midst  of  her  perform 
ance.  After  reminding  Eastin  that  she 
had  been  present  at  this  concert,  the  visitor 
said  suddenly: 

"  What  became  of  that  lovely  girl  who 
was  taken  ill  that  night  ?  " 

"  Dead,  darling,"  Eastin  astonished  her 
by  saying,  throwing  into  his  answer  all 
the  plaintive  tenderness  aroused  by  the 
reminiscence,  and  not  noticing  the  fact 
that  he  had  applied  a  term  of  endearment 
to  the  decorous  matron  before  him.  He 
perhaps  would  never  have  realized  it,  if  a 
suppressed  titter,  in  which  his  own  chil 
dren  took  part,  had  not  called  his  attention 
to  the  fact.  Then  he  recollected  himself, 
and  a  hot  flush  rose  to  his  face.  He  got 
up  and  left  the  room,  not  in  the  least 
comforted  by  the  fact,  that,  as  he  did  so, 
he  heard  his  wife  rebuking  the  children  for 
laughing  at  their  father.  It  seemed  to  put 
him  in  such  a  miserable  position  that  the 
rebuke  should  be  necessary,  and  that  his 
wife,  in  giving  it,  manifested  a  degree  of 
250 


His  Heart's  Desire 

wifely  dutifulness  for  which  her  friends 
gave  her  their  admiration. 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  took 
up  his  old  slouch  hat  from  the  hall  table  and 
put  it  on,  letting  himself  out  into  the  sun 
lit  fields  where  the  birds  made  their  music 
without  calling  contempt  upon  themselves, 
and  where  nature  seemed  to  hold  out  her 
arms  to  him  and  to  invite  him  to  repose 
upon  the  only  breast  which  harbored  no 
disapproval  or  criticism  of  him. 

One  thing  which  had  bitten  deep  into 
Eastin's  heart  was  shame  at  the  lack  of 
resolution  and  purpose,  which  had  allowed 
him  all  these  years  to  go  on  with  this  idle 
and  aimless  life.  Once  or  twice  he  had 
made  an  effort  to  escape  it,  but  those  had 
been  the  occasions  of  the  most  painful  and 
bitter  scenes  he  had  ever  known.  His 
idea  of  going  forth  into  the  world  and 
making  a  career  for  himself  with  his  music 
was  the  one  thing  his  wife  would  not  tol 
erate.  She  was  afraid  of  what  this  break 
from  his  family  might  lead  to,  and  she  had 
251 


His  Heart's  Desire 

all  a  country-bred  woman's  horror  of  being 
pointed  at  as  a  deserted  wife.  It  mattered 
little  that  her  husband  was  separated  from 
her  in  soul,  compared  to  what  it  would  be 
to  have  him  separated  from  her  visibly. 
It  was  pride  —  pride  for  her  wifehood  and 
motherhood  —  that  made  her  feel  so  in 
tensely  on  this  subject,  and  she  made  no 
pretense  of  any  more  tender  feeling. 

If  she  had  made  it  the  appeal  of  love, 
even  at  this  late  hour,  and  had  shown  him 
that  she  wanted  him  to  stay,  because*  he 
was  dear  to  her,  he  would  have  stayed  and 
been  happy.  But  his  reason  for  staying  was 
that  when  she  told  him  that  it  was  the  one 
thing  he  could  ever  do  for  her  or  for  her 
children  —  that  neither  had  anything  besides 
this  to  ask  at  his  hands  —  her  words,  scath 
ing  and  mortifying  as  they  were,  carried 
conviction,  and  he  felt  a  moment's  divine 
thrill  in  making  the  sacrifice. 

Another  motive  which  prompted  him  to 
stay  was  a  natural  and  unconquerable  self- 
distrust,  which  warned  him  unceasingly 
252 


His  Heart's  Desire 

that  failure  and  disappointment  were  to  be 
his  lot  in  life.  There  was  still  a  third 
motive  —  stronger,  perhaps,  than  either  of 
the  others,  and  the  one  of  all  the  three 
which  he  was  most  reluctant  to  own. 
This  was  a  feeling  deep  in  his  soul,  that  a 
return  to  the  conditions  of  life  which  he 
had  once  known  would  put  him  to  a  ter 
rible  test.  His  artistic  temperament  made 
him  keenly  susceptible  to  appeals  to  the 
senses,  and  during  all  these  years  his  senses 
had  been  so  starved  that  he  was  actually 
afraid  to  go  willfully  into  places  of  tempta 
tion.  A  life  of  that  sort  would  be  infinitely 
more  dangerous  to  him  now  than  it  had 
been  before,  for  the  reason  that  in  youth  he 
had  always  an  ideal  to  live  up  to,  and  he 
had  no  ideal  now.  He  had  then  been  con 
strained  to  keep  from  self-abasement  by 
the  thought  of  bringing  a  clean  body  and 
soul  to  offer  to  the  woman  he  would  some 
day  love.  But  the  clear  star  of  ideal  love 
no  longer  shone  for  him,  and  the  thought 
of  what  he  might  do  if  opportunity  came 
253 


His  Heart's  Desire 

was  a  powerful  restraint  upon  him.  This, 
with  the  two  other  strong  reasons,  was  suf 
ficient  to  bind  him  to  the  spot  of  earth  on 
which  his  wife  and  children  lived. 

He  was  not  without  a  real  attachment  to 
his  family,  and  he  was  proud  of  the  two 
healthy  boys  and  the  two  rosy-faced  girls  in 
a  deprecating  sort  of  way,  which  implied  his 
knowledge  that  he  deserved  the  least  pos 
sible  credit  for  them.  But  these  were  quiet, 
serious  feelings,  which  had  more  the  nature 
of  opinions  than  emotions.  He  had  been 
acutely  disappointed  to  find  almost  imme 
diately  after  his  marriage  that  his  wife  was 
in  no  sense  a  companion  to  him,  and  he 
had  since  become  convinced  that  any  pos 
sibility  of  a  companionship  with  his  chil 
dren  was  out  of  the  question. 

So  all  those  prayers  had  been  in  vain! 
There  was  pain  intolerable  in  the  thought, 
but  he  did  not  cease  to  pray.  His  one  hope 
of  getting  his  prayer  was  the  intensity  of  its 
earnestness.  It  was,  therefore,  a  shock  that 
stunned  his  very  soul  to  hear  his  wife  say 
254 


His  Heart's  Desire 

that  she  had  been  praying  all  the  time  that 
what  he  asked  might  be  withheld.  What 
more  natural  than  that  her  prayers  should 
have  been  granted,  and  his  denied  ?  She 
was  a  good  and  religious  woman,  who 
never  omitted  going  to  church  or  any  reli 
gious  duty.  She  was  almost  the  support 
of  the  minister,  and  was  generous  in  her 
gifts  to  missions  and  charities.  He,  poor 
old  musician  and  dreamer,  rarely  saw  the 
inside  of  a  church,  and  when  he  did,  he 
felt,  as  he  said  himself,  like  a  poor  relation 
admitted  on  sufferance.  Often  he  played 
prayers  on  his  violin,  which  he  felt  up 
bore  his  soul  to  God,  and  he  sometimes 
passionately  felt  that  if  God  would  give 
him  his  heart's  desire  he  would  make  the 
remainder  of  his  life  an  act  of  praise  and 
thanks  to  Him. 

When  his  fifth  child  was  born  —  a  girl 
—  he  felt  for  the  first  time  an  apathetic 
hopelessness  about  it.  Since  he  had  known 
of  his  wife's  daily  prayer,  his  own  seemed 
very  useless. 

255 


His  Heart's  Desire 

His  wife  felt  more  satisfaction  than  re 
gret  in  the  fact  that  Eastin  scarcely  looked 
at  this  baby,  and  never  voluntarily  held 
nor,  indeed,  touched  it.  He  had  given  evi 
dence  of  no  feeling  against  the  little  crea 
ture,  and  had  shown  himself,  as  ever, 
gentle  and  tender  of  the  mother's  weak 
ness  and  pain,  but  there  was  a  difference 
between  his  bearing  toward  this  child  and 
the  others.  The  mother  wondered  a  little 
why  this  was,  but  was  far  from  suspect 
ing  the  truth. 

He  showed  the  same  indifference  when 
the  time  came  to  choose  a  name  for  the 
baby.  Heretofore,  he  had  interested  him 
self  especially  on  this  point.  His  wife 
had  allowed  him  to  call  one  of  the  girls 
"  Adelina,"  rather  liking  the  name,  but 
had  rebelled  at  "  Wolfgang  "  and  "  Sebas 
tian  "  for  the  boys.  In  this  instance, 
being  left  quite  free,  she  called  the  child 
"  Rose- Jewel,"  the  latter  part  being  a 
family  name  of  her  own.  When  the 


256 


His  Heart's  Desire 

name  was  told  to  the  father  he  gave  it  a 
listless  approval. 

Eastin  had  aged  within  the  past  year. 
The  period  marked  by  his  wife's  avowal 
to  her  friend  had  been  the  beginning  of  a 
change  in  him.  His  figure  became  bent 
and  thin,  his  hair  whitened,  and  he  became 
more  than  ever  indifferent  about  his  dress. 
A  dullness  settled  on  him,  also,  that  made 
him  a  sombre  figure  in  that  active  house 
hold.  Sometimes  a  consciousness  of  this 
oppressed  him,  and  at  times  he  would  wish 
with  a  long  sigh  that  life  was  over  for  him. 

When  Rose- Jewel  was  about  a  year  old 
he  happened  one  day  to  be  in  the  room 
with  her  when  she  was  taking  her  mid-day 
nap.  The  mother  and  other  four  chil 
dren  were  out  in  the  village.  Walking 
across  the  room,  he  had  had  no  conscious 
ness  of  the  baby's  presence  until  a  pretty 
little  chuckling  sound  caused  him  to  look 
toward  the  crib.  There  he  saw  behind 
the  wooden  railings  a  face  that  was  ex- 


257 


His  Heart's  Desire 

quisitely  sweet  and  merry,  with  cheeks 
rosy  from  sleep,  and  towzled  golden  hair, 
and  a  pair  of  beautiful  great  eyes  that 
looked  at  him  with  love. 

He  stopped  short,  and  his  heart  gave  an 
excited  leap.  The  child,  of  course,  was 
familiar  with  the  sight  of  him  and  was  ab 
solutely  unafraid.  He  went  a  step  nearer 
and  bent  forward  over  the  crib.  As  he 
did  so  the  baby  smiled.  It  must  be  a  hard 
heart  that  refuses  to  return  the  smile  of  a 
child,  and  Eastin's  heart  was  soft  as  wax 
to  any  sign  of  love.  The  baby  smiled 
again,  and  this  time  the  smile  was  accom 
panied  by  a  repetition  of  the  little  gurgling 
laugh.  Eastin's  face  grew  red,  then  pale, 
and  he  fell  upon  his  knees  beside  the  crib. 
A  mighty  impulse  stirred  his  heart.  It 
gave  a  great  bound,  as  if  it  freed  itself  from 
cords  that  had  held  it  in  and  from  weights 
that  had  dragged  it  down.  Words  that 
leaped  upward  as  if  from  its  secret  depths 
came  in  rapid  whispers  from  his  lips. 

"  Almighty  God,"  he  said,  "  great  Lord 
258 


His  Heart's  Desire 

of  all  the  earth,  whose  power  is  supreme, 
whose  goodness  to  men  is  boundless,  who 
gives  to  the  ungrateful  and  unworthy  as 
well  as  to  the  faithful  and  good  !  O  great, 
and  powerful,  and  merciful,  and  kind,  and 
pitying  God,  give  me  in  this  child  the  de 
sire  of  my  heart !  Give  her  the  power  to 
be  what  I  have  never  been  —  the  power 
to  feed  the  hungry  souls  of  men  and  wo 
men  with  the  heavenly  bread  of  music  — 
the  power  to  brighten  their  dark  souls  with 
its  light  —  to  ease  their  aching  hearts  with 
its  divine  consolations  —  to  drown  their 
restlessness  in  its  peace  !  My  God,  my 
God,"  he  pleaded,  shaking  back  the  strag 
gling  locks  of  hair,  as  he  had  been  used  to 
do  when  he  became  excited  in  playing,  and 
shutting  fast  his  eyes,  while  his  hands  were 
clasped  on  the  railing  of  the  crib  with  a 
hard  pressure  that  strained  the  muscles 
into  knobs,  "the  power  is  Thine  —  Thou 
canst !  Thou  canst !  I  do  believe  —  in 
spite  of  all  my  faithlessness — I  do  believe  ! 
I  know  that  Thou  hearest !  I  know  this 
259 


His  Heart's  Desire 

prayer  of  the  poorest  and  most  unworthy 
of  Thy  creatures  goes  straight  to  Thy 
infinite  heart !  O  God,  Thou  hadst  a 
Son  !  Thou  art  the  Father  of  the  Lord 
Jesus !  In  His  name  I  ask  !  In  the 
name  of  Him  who  said  that  those  who 
came  to  Thee  should  in  no  wise  be  cast 
out  !  " 

All  the  time  that  he  was  uttering  these 
impassioned  words  the  baby  was  looking 
at  him  in  serene  contemplation.  Her 
little  feet  were  bare,  and  she  kicked  them 
about  and  caught  them  in  her  hands,  and 
wriggled  her  plump  body  from  side  to  side, 
while  she  watched  the  strange  motions  of 
his  head  and  eyes  and  lips  as  if  it  were  an 
amusement  got  up  for  her  benefit.  As 
the  last  words  were  uttered,  she  laughed 
again  —  a  little  laugh  that  ended  in  a  high, 
clear  note  that  sent  a  thrill  of  ecstacy 
throughout  the  man's  whole  being.  He 
trembled  visibly  and  his  face  grew  pale 
with  the  thick  beating  of  his  heart.  For 
a  moment  he  was  absolutely  still.  Then, 
260 


His  Heart's  Desire 

for  one  instant,  he  raised  his  eyes,  which 
were  rilled  with  tears,  and  his  lips  moved 
meekly.  Then  he  looked  down  again  at 
the  child,  bent  his  head  over  the  crib,  and 
began  to  whistle  a  low,  sweet,  stirring 
air.  The  little  creature  stopped  at  once 
her  movements  of  hands  and  feet,  and 
fixed  her  large  eyes  on  him  attentively. 
He  whistled  more  gaily  and  quickly,  and 
her  face  lighted  up  and  answered  with  a 
look  of  excitement,  which  he  saw  with  a 
bounding  heart.  Then  he  fell  into  a  low, 
sad  minor,  slow  and  tremulous,  and  in  a 
single  moment  her  face  responded.  The 
smiles  all  vanished,  and,  as  he  went  on, 
her  eyes  began  to  fill  and  she  puckered  up 
her  little  mouth  to  cry. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  seized  her  in 
his  arms,  clasping  her  against  his  throb 
bing  breast,  and  letting  his  tears  fall  over 
her  shining  curls.  He  knew  now  beyond 
any  possibility  of  doubt  that  she  had,  in 
one  sense,  at  least,  the  gift  he  coveted  for 
her — an  emotional  susceptibility  to  the 
261 


His  Heart's  Desire 

influence  of  sound.  This  was  enough  to 
make  him  feel  that  within  his  baby's  body 
there  was  a  soul  to  sympathize  with  him. 
He  believed,  moreover,  and  the  thrilling 
conviction  seemed  to  give  wings  to  his 
soul,  that  his  child  would  show  herself  to. 
possess  the  gift  of  music  in  the  creative 
sense.  Perhaps  the  little  body,  warm  and 
moist  against  him  now,  possessed  within 
itself  that  august  mystery,  a  magnificent 
human  voice,  or  perhaps  these  exquisite 
baby  hands,  pink  and  dimpled  and  satin, 
smooth,  were  some  day  to  command  at 
will  the  grand  harmonies  of  melodious 
sound.  Ah,  God  !  it  was  sweet  to  feel 
that  she  was  his — bone  of  his  bone  and 
flesh  of  his  flesh — body  of  his  body — soul 
of  his  soul  ! 

She  struggled  a  little  in  his  constraining 
embrace,  and  he  loosed  his  clasp  of  her 
and  took  her  more  naturally  on  his  arm 
and  walked  with  her  to  an  open  window. 
It  was  summer-time,  and  a  bird  was  sing 
ing  in  a  tree  outside.  He  saw  her  face 
262 


His  Heart's  Desire 

lighten  as  she  heard   the  sound,  and  again 
his  heart  throbbed  faster. 

At  that  moment  the  negro  nurse  came 
into  the  room,  and  looked  with  astonish 
ment  at  the  picture  that  met  her.  The 
excitement  through  which  the  poor  fellow 
had  gone  made  him  feel  weak  and  tremu 
lous,  and  he  submitted  quietly  to  have 
the  child  taken  from  him  and  carried  away. 
His  longing  was  to  be  alone,  to  utter 
in  some  way  his  thanks  to  the  Father 
who  had  done  this.  In  a  few  mo 
ments,  almost  unconscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  he  found  himself  in  his  own  little 
private  place,  the  dairy.  Here  he  shut 
himself  in,  and  fell  upon  his  knees.  His 
prayer  of  thanksgiving  was  confused,  inco 
herent,  utterly  insufficient.  He  rose  in 
the  midst  of  the  mumbled  words,  took  his 
violin,  and  began  to  play.  It  seemed  to 
ease  the  stress  of  his  soul,  and  as  he  played 
on,  the  tears  overflowed  his  eyes.  When 
he  laid  by  the  violin  he  went  over  to  the 
piano  and  played  great  sounding  chords. 
263 


His  Heart's  Desire 

A  strain  of  grand  melody  came  into  his 
mind,  and  he  found  himself  composing  a 
71?  Deum — fitting  the  words  to  the  sound 
as  they  came  to  him,  and  feeling  himself 
wrapped  in  with  ecstacy. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  new  life 
to  Eastin.  After  that,  he  walked  about  the 
common,  familiar  scenes,  and  saw  them 
clothed  with  an  unfamiliar  beauty;  he  felt 
the  world,  no  matter  where  he  came  into 
contact  with  it,  sweet  and  harmonious  and 
full  of  delight.  He  was  absolutely,  absorb 
ingly  and  sufficingly  happy.  The  common 
life  about  him  seemed  suddenly  glorified, 
and  his  heart  expanded  with  an  overflow  of 
loving  good-will  to  all  the  world,  that  made 
him  see  in  his  wife  and  other  children  at 
tractions  and  good  points  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  or  it  may  be,  caused  him 
to  imagine  those  which  had  no  existence 
at  all,  except  in  his  new-made  will  to  see 
only  goodness  and  sweetness  everywhere. 
He  made  timid  efforts  to  interest  and  to 
be  of  service  to  his  wife  and  children,  and 
264 


His  Heart's  Desire 

he  was  not  perceptibly  discouraged  by 
the  fact  that  his  overtures  were  regarded 
with  surprise,  rather  than  appreciation, 
for  he  had  in  one  little  creature  a  refuge 
from  every  trouble,  and  a  balm  for  every 
wound. 

As  time  went  on,  Rose-Jewel  showed 
every  day  new  indications  of  a  deep  and 
extraordinary  feeling  for  music,  and  occa 
sionally,  even  in  her  babyhood,  would  pass 
from  her  high,  clear  laughter  into  a  little 
carol  of  song,  as  spontaneous  and  incohe 
rent  as  a  bird's,  and  as  thrillingly  lovely. 
One  moment,  he  felt  himself  weakened 
almost  to  helplessness  by  the  sudden  ebb 
of  blood  from  his  heart ;  the  next,  as  it 
rushed  back,  he  felt  himself  strengthened 
with  such  might  that  nothing  seemed  too 
great  for  him  to  do  or  to  be.  He  soon  be 
came  aware  of  a  necessity  for  vigilance,  in 
keeping  his  precious  secret.  His  devotion 
to  the  baby,  of  course,  was  observed,  and 
he  was  horribly  afraid  of  having  its  cause 
understood.  He  felt  that  trouble  for  them 
265 


His  Heart's  Desire 

both  would  come  of  it.  He  knew  how 
the  mother  would  feel,  and  he  had  a  deadly 
fear  of  being  separated  from  his  idol.  He 
was  relieved  to  find  that  his  peculiar  fancy 
for  this  baby  was  looked  upon  as  a  fad, 
for  which  his  general  oddness  was  enough 
to  account.  It  was  a  matter  of  practical 
convenience  to  have  so  much  of  the  care 
of  the  baby  taken  off  the  hands  of  the 
mother  and  the  nurse,  and  so  it  was  less 
commented  on. 

Perhaps  it  enhanced  the  delights  of  this 
companionship,  that  they  were  so  often 
stolen.  There  was  a  delicious  sense  of 
mystery,  in  taking  Rose- Jewel  tenderly  in 
his  arms  and  walking  off  down  the  gar 
den-path  when  nobody  was  looking,  going 
into  the  little  room,  closing  the  door,  draw 
ing  the  curtain,  and  then,  quite  cut  off 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  enjoying 
this  most  delightful  of  tete-a-tetes,  where  he 
played  with  absolute  freedom  and  unre 
serve,  to  an  audience  that  responded  to 
his  touch,  whether  light  or  hard,  grave  or 
266 


His  Heart's  Desire 

gay,  more  sensitively  than  the  most  per 
fect  instrument  could  have  done. 

To  look  into  Rose-Jewel's  great  de 
lighted  eyes,  across  his  violin,  and  to 
see  them  gleam  and  glow  with  an  emotion 
that  corresponded  absolutely  to  his,  was, 
he  thought,  as  keen  a  pleasure  as  he,  or 
mortal  man  beside  had  ever  known. 

In  time  it  became  a  positive,  thrilling, 
marvelous  certainty  that  Rose- Jewel  had 
a  voice  —  a  clear,  true,  strong  little  voice 
that  gave  magnificent  promise.  Then 
came  the  other  delight,  when  she  was  older, 
of  teaching  her  to  strike  little  melodies  on 
the  piano,  and  even  to  put  her  baby  fingers 
on  certain  simple  chords,  as  an  accom 
paniment  to  her  father's  violin.  The  very 
first  time  he  made  this  effort,  she  caught 
at  it  with  a  quickness  and  delight  which 
made  his  breath  come  almost  suffocatingly. 
It  became,  after  that,  a  part  of  their  daily 
routine,  to  practice  together.  She  was  old 
enough  to  talk  coherently  now,  and  he 
often  feared  that  she  might  betray  their 
267 


His  Heart's  Desire 

secret,  but  she  seemed  to  have  some  won 
derful  intuition  of  the  truth,  and  never 
even  sang,  except  when  alone  with  him. 

What  hours  of  stolen  rapture  the  two 
culprits  had  together  !  Sometimes  they 
wandered  off  and  sat  on  the  banks  by  the 
river-side,  and  sometimes  he  lifted  her  into 
the  little  boat,  and,  while  she  held  the  dear 
violin  safely  and  reverently,  he  would  row 
off  into  the  stream,  and  there  play  to  her 
while  they  drifted  gently  about.  In  this 
freedom  of  isolation  he  could  play  as  it 
was  impossible  to  play  near  the  house,  with 
an  abandon  of  pleasure  which  set  the  child 
nearly  wild  with  delight.  Here,  too,  he 
would  test  and  exercise  her  voice,  with  the 
greatest  care  not  to  strain  it,  and  here, 
unseen  by  any  eyes  but  those  of  the  birds 
and  the  squirrels,  they  would  put  their  arms 
around  each  other's  neck  and  give  way  to 
a  passion  of  tenderness  of  which  both 
the  child  as  well  as  the  man,  would  have 
been  incapable  in  the  presence  of  others. 
They  were  completely  happy  hours — 
268 


His  Heart's  Desire 

happy  enough  to  atone  for  every  pain  and 
deprivation  which  the  past  had  held  for 
him,  or  the  future  might  have  in  store. 

He  did  not  complain  of  the  past,  any 
more  than  he  feared  the  future  for  him 
self.  His  one  thought  was  the  child. 
When  he  speculated  on  her  life  to  come, 
a  timorous  dread  would,  in  spite  of  him, 
mix  with  the  enthusiastic  expectations  of 
her  dazzling  success  in  the  musical  world. 
He  would  feast  his  imagination  for  hours, 
on  the  thought  of  this.  It  was  not  the 
splendor  of  music  halls,  nor  the  applause 
of  audiences  that  he  coveted  for  his  dar 
ling.  It  was  the  power  to  touch  the 
hearts  of  men  and  women,  and  to  incite 
them  to  deeds  of  nobleness  and  strength, 
that  should  re-echo  through  the  world. 

Always,  however,  those  dreams  of  bliss 
were  poisoned  by  that  haunting  fear  of 
what  the  counteracting  influence  of  the 
child's  mother  might  be.  It  made  him 
shiver  with  terror,  when  he  thought  of  that 
bird  of  music  which  lived  in  Rose-Jewel's 
269 


His  Heart's  Desire 

breast,  with  its  wings  cut,  and  its  song 
stifled  by  the  cold  chill  of  disapproval,  and 
even  a  more  active  form  of  objection.  He 
imagined  the  harshness  and  contempt  which 
would  fall  upon  that  angelic  child,  if  it 
should  be  discovered  that  she  had  inherited 
her  father's  misfortune,  and  had  been 
encouraged  in  its  development  by  him. 
He  thought  of  how  broken  and  purposeless 
his  life  had  been  made  by  the  cold  and 
uncomprehending  judgment  of  those  about 
him,  and  he  felt  weak  with  cowardice  at 
the  thought  of  Rose- Jewel  having  the 
same  ordeal  before  her.  He  was  ashamed 
to  feel  himself  powerless  to  help  her  in  it. 
He  knew  that  nothing  short  of  stealing  the 
child  and  keeping  her  hid  would  suffice, 
and  that  he  could  not  do.  All  the  world 
would  consider  him  a  monster,  and  he 
would  feel  like  one.  Besides  this,  his 
poverty  would  hinder.  How  could  he 
take  his  little  song-bird  out  to  be  a  pauper 
with  him  ?  How  could  he  even  expect  to 
keep  such  a  voice  as  he  foresaw  in  her, 
270 


His  Heart's  Desire 

a  secret  ?  No, —  God  help  the  poor  baby  ! 
—  she  must  stay  and  bear  the  blow  when  it 
should  come,  and  he,  for  his  part,  must  do 
what  he  could  to  help  her — feeble  as  his 
help  would  be  ! 

He  felt  the  danger  coming  nearer  every 
day,  for  Rose- Jewel  was  now  able  to  sing 
little  songs  with  words  and  music,  and  the 
more  he  felt  the  keen  delight  her  delicious 
little  voice  gave  him,  the  more  he  trembled 
at  the  thought  of  discovery.  It  was  won 
derful  how  the  child  seemed  to  feel  the 
necessity  of  secrecy,  and  how,  baby  as  she 
was,  she  never  gave  any  evidence  of  her 
musical  gifts,  except  when  with  her  father. 
Her  childlike  recollection  of  his  warnings 
surprised  him. 

One  day  the  two  were  down  in  the  old 
dairy  together.  Eastin,  with  his  violin 
was  playing  the  air  of  "  Comin'  through 
the  Rye,"  and  Rose- Jewel  was  following 
him,  with  her  lisping  utterance,  and  clear, 
delicious  voice,  as  she  stood  before  him, 
her  eyes  answering  the  look  of  his,  as 
271 


His  Heart's  Desire 

definitely  and  truly  as  her  voice  answered 
his  instrument.  When  he  played  the 
music  to  her  baby  pronunciation  of  the 
words: 

"  Every  lathie  hath  her  laddie, 
None  they  thay  have  I —  ' ' 

and  her  thrilling  little  voice  rose  to  the 
last  high  note,  and  took  it  with  ease  and 
held  it,  the  man's  hand  shook  so  that  the 
bow  dropped  from  it.  For  a  few  seconds, 
the  only  sound  was  that  almost  inhuman 
little  treble  voice,  fine  and  thin  as  a  hair, 
but  so  thrillingly  sweet  that  it  sent  a  long 
tremor  all  through  Eastin's  limbs.  Hur 
riedly  putting  down  his  violin,  he  held  out 
his  arms.  The  child  flew  into  them,  and 
as  he  swooped  her  from  the  ground  to  his 
heart,  she  finished,  without  accompani 
ment,  the  lines : 

"  Yet  all  the  ladth  they  thmile  at  me, 
When  comin'  thro'  the  Rye." 

He  hugged  her  close  and  hard  against 
his  heart.  He  had  in  her  all  that  he  cared 
for,  all  that  he  had  ever  sought  or  desired, 

272 


His  Heart's  Desire 

his  compensation  for  the  bitter  past,  his 
sufficiency  for  the  uncertain  future.  His 
heart  was  full  of  bliss. 

A  sound  from  behind  aroused  him. 
The  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open.  He 
turned,  still  clasping  the  child,  and  met 
the  infuriated  eyes  of  the  wife  and  mother. 

The  scene  that  followed  was  one  that 
roused  him  to  a  point  of  excitement  he 
had  never  known  before.  It  was  very 
brief,  but  in  those  moments,  in  which 
Rose-Jewel  clung  about  his  neck,  while 
her  mother  tried  in  vain  to  get  possession 
of  her,  while  she  seemed  to  appeal  to  him 
for  protection,  and  the  very  appeal  seemed 
to  give  him  the  power  of  response,  he  felt 
himself,  for  the  first  time  since  his  mar 
riage,  a  strong,  self-reliant  man,  and  a 
sense  of  exultation  swelled  upward  with 
the  surgings  of  his  excited  blood,  until  he 
felt  able  to  do  and  dare  everything  for  the 
sake  of  defending  this  child.  His  wife, 
scarcely  recognizing  him  in  this  unfamiliar 
aspect,  was  for  a  moment  surprised  into 
273 


His  Heart's  Desire 

silence,  but  the  reaction  after  this  made 
her  more  angry  yet,  and  the  long  restrained 
indignation  of  years  broke  loose.  She 
gave  it  full  vent,  and  he  heard  his  beloved 
art  defamed  and  derided,  and  a  possession 
of  the  musical  gift  called  a  misfortune,  a 
nuisance  and  a  curse.  It  was  enough,  she 
said,  to  have  borne  with  it  in  him,  and 
to  have  had  calamity  brought  through 
him  into  her  life;  but  to  go  through  it 
again,  with  her  own  child  —  was  more 
than  she  could  stand  !  She  declared  that 
her  confidence  had  been  abused  —  that 
Rose-Jewel  should  never  be  left  one  mo 
ment  alone  with  him  again  —  that  it  should 
be  the  object  of  her  life,  henceforth,  to 
suppress  every  sign  of  musical  talent  the 
child  might  manifest  —  that  she  was  re 
solved  to  do  this,  if  she  had  to  whip  her, 
tie  her,  starve  her,  lock  her  up,  a  dozen 
times  a  day.  She  looked  into  his  eyes 
defiantly,  and  warned  him  that  the  child 
should  not  be  spared  !  As  he  heard  these 
words  come  from  her  lips,  he  felt  a  tight- 


His  Heart's  Desire 

ening  of  the  little  arms  around  his  neck. 
The  fire  of  his  passionate  love  for  his 
baby  was  kindled  into  a  keener  flame,  and 
he  wished  it  were  possible  never  to  loose 
her  from  his  arms.  Her  every  second's 
absence  from  his  sight  would  be  torturing 
anxiety  to  his  heart. 

When  the  mother  came  nearer,  and 
tried  to  take  the  little  creature  from  him, 
he  threw  out  his  disengaged  arm  and 
warded  her  off,  with  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  she  felt  to  be  dangerous,  and  some 
how,  to  her  own  surprise,  it  checked  her. 
Rose- Jewel,  terrified  by  the  only  half- 
comprehended  threats  of  the  mother,  cried 
piteously  on  his  neck,  and  even  while  to 
the  excited  woman  before  him  he  showed 
a  spirit  of  daring,  of  which  he  knew  he  had 
never  been  capable  until  that  minute,  he 
was  soothing  and  reassuring  the  child  with 
soft,  caressing  sounds  and  touches,  and 
inwardly  vowing  that,  no  matter  what  hap 
pened,  he  would  never  be  separated  from 
her  —  never  give  her  up. 
275 


His  Heart's  Desire 

His  wife  saw  that  unknown  look  of 
resolution  in  his  eyes,  and  felt  compelled 
by  it  to  yield  her  point. 

She  drew  back  a  few  steps,  and  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  said: 

"  I  won't  attempt  to  reason  with  a  man 
who  is  out  of  his  mind,  for  that  is  what 
you  are,  at  present.  Of  course,  if  you 
choose  to  exercise  force  toward  a  woman, 
you  are  too  strong  for  me.  But,  when  I 
get  my  child  back,  I  shall  know  how  to 
keep  her." 

"  She  is  my  child,  too,"  he  answered, 
"  and  you  shall  never  get  her  away  from 
me.  I  will  never  give  her  up  to  you,  or 
to  any  one." 

These  words  were  said  more  by  way  of 
reassurance  to  the  sobbing  child  than  to 
the  mother.  He  had  felt  Rose-Jewel 
draw  him  closer,  as  she  heard  her  mother's 
threat,  and  he  answered  the  baby's  touch, 
rather  than  the  woman's  words. 

"  You  are  too  excited  to  see  how  foolish 
your  words  are,"  answered  his  wife  coldly, 
276 


His  Heart's  Desire 

"  but  no  one  expects  any  practical  sense 
from  you.  Rose-Jewel,"  she  added,  with 
a  sudden  tone  of  harsh  authoritativeness, 
"  if  you  do  n't  stop  that  crying,  I  shall 
punish  you  for  it.  I  'm  going  now,  and 
your  papa  can  keep  you,  but,  to-night, 
you  '11  have  to  come  to  me,  and  I  '11  see  if 
I  can  't  make  you  a  better  girl." 

As  the  mother  left  the  room,  Eastin  felt 
the  child's  sobbing  increase.  She  uttered 
little  stifled  cries  of  terror  that  cut  him  to 
the  very  soul. 

"  There,  my  Rose,  my  Jewel,  my  Bird," 
he  said.  "  Do  n't  you  be  frightened.  No 
one  shall  take  Papa's  baby  away  from  him. 
Papa  '11  keep  her,  right  in  his  arms,  and 
never  let  her  go  out  of  them,  that 's  what 
he  '11  do.  Nobody  shall  lay  their  fingers 
on  his  baby." 

He  said  recklessly  anything  that  he 
thought  would  reassure  her,  but,  even 
while  he  spoke,  he  felt  oppressed  and  terri 
fied  at  the  impossibility  of  performing  what 
he  was  promising.  His  heart  felt  like 
277 


His  Heart's  Desire 

lead,  when  he  realized  that  he  would  have 
to  give  her  up — that  he  would,  in  a  few 
hours,  now,  at  best,  be  forced  to  see  her 
taken  from  him,  struggling,  crying,  terri 
fied,  to  begin  her  initiation  into  a  life  of 
torture,  and  that,  when  she  left  his  arms, 
he  could  never  take  her  back  to  them, 
in  the  same  way,  forever.  All  the  privacy 
and  sacredness  of  their  intercourse  was 
gone,  even  if,  as  was  doubtful,  he  was  ever 
allowed  to  have  her  again.  And  when 
she  was  out  of  his  sight,  what  would  be 
his  dread  about  her?  She  had  been  threat 
ened  with  blows,  starvation,  and  revenge 
ful  anger,  if  she  ever  tried  to  play  or  sing 
again — and  to  stop  her  music  would  seem 
to  him  like  murdering  her  soul. 

A  longing  for  the  old  isolation  of  free 
dom  came  upon  him.  They  might  have 
it  once  again  !  He  reached  for  his  violin 
and  bow  and  put  them  into  the  case. 
Then,  still  holding  the  child  pressed  close 
against  him,  he  took  up  the  case  with  his 
free  hand,  and  went  out  of  the  opened  door. 
278 


His  Heart's  Desire 

It  was  a  mild,  overcast  summer  day. 
The  very  act  of  getting  out  of  doors  exhil 
arated  and  strengthened  him.  He  spoke 
gay  and  encouraging  words  to  the  child,  as 
he  carried  her  down  the  little,  well-worn 
path  which  led  to  the  river,  without  going 
in  sight  of  the  house.  They  had  often 
gone  along  this  path  together,  and  when  he 
reached  the  bank  and  loosed  the  little  boat 
tied  there,  and  put  Rose-Jewel  down  on 
the  cushion  in  the  bottom,  with  the  violin 
against  her  feet,  they  were  only  re-enacting 
old  familiar  scenes  of  companionship  and 
delight. 

Eastin  took  up  the  small  paddle  that  lay 
in  the  boat,  and  pushed  out  into  the  stream. 
The  river  was  perfectly  placid  on  days 
like  this,  and  it  was  his  delight  to  get  off 
with  the  child  a  little  way  from  land  and 
to  play  to  her.  The  boat  scarcely  moved 
upon  the  water,  and  they  did  not  go  out 
far  enough  to  get  into  the  current.  It  was 
in  the  wide  and  sleepy  part  of  the  stream 
above  the  narrows. 

279 


His  Heart's  Desire 

The  child  had  grown  completely  quiet 
now,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a  face  of 
unclouded  happiness  as  he  laid  down  the 
paddle  and  took  his  violin  out  of  its  case. 
He  put  it  in  perfect  tune,  and  then,  with 
that  radiant  presence  opposite  him,  began 
to  play. 

On  his  own  heart  the  shadow  of  a  great 
dread  hung  heavy.  He  felt  that  this  hour 
separated  the  dear  and  beautiful  past  from 
a  future  full  of  pain  and  wrangling,  and 
even  of  cruelty  and  harshness.  He  would 
have  to  make  a  desperate  fight  with  his 
wife  for  the  soul  and  body  of  the  child, 
and  he  felt  that  everything  was  against 
him.  It  was  inevitable  that  he  should  be 
conquered,  and  what  would  it  all  mean  to 
his  darling  ?  He  looked  into  her  beautiful, 
confiding  little  face,  and  it  almost  broke 
his  heart.  He  resolved  that  she  should 
be  happy,  for  this  hour,  at  least. 

He  played  to  her  gay  dance  music,  and 
she  clapped  her  hands  in   time   to  it,  and 
rocked  her  little  body  about,  until  the  boat 
280 


His  Heart's  Desire 

moved  with  her  motion,  and  made  them 
seem  to  be  dancing.  Eastin  helped  this 
effect  by  patting  his  foot  and  shaking  his 
head,  and  answering  audibly  her  little  cries 
of  glee.  He  passed  from  waltz  to  polka, 
and  from  polka  to  galop,  the  child,  con 
forming  to  every  change  of  time ;  and 
Eastin,  remembering  that  it  was  their  last 
free  hour  together,  got  intoxicated  with  the 
delight  of  it,  and  bewildered  by  the  thought 
of  its  fleetingness  played  faster  and  faster, 
nodding  his  head  in  time  to  Rose-Jewel's 
motions,  and  never  taking  his  eyes  from 
her  face. 

At  last,  with  a  final  scrape  of  the  bow, 
the  exciting  measure  ended,  and  he  dropped 
his  arms  with  a  wild  and  breathless  laugh, 
to  which  the  child  responded. 

But  how  was  it  that,  although  both  their 
tired  bodies  had  grown  still  and  relaxed, 
that  sense  of  movement  continued  ?  Eastin 
felt  a  spasm  of  fear  at  his  heart,  and 
looking  about  him  he  discovered  that  they 
were  far  from  the  shore,  and  in  the  very 
281 


His  Heart's  Desire 

center  of  the  stream,  whose  current  was 
bearing  them  rapidly  onward,  and  every 
moment  becoming  stronger  and  swifter. 
He  realized,  in  one  awful  instant,  that  they 
had  been  drifting  for  some  time,  and  were 
quickly  getting  into  the  narrows.  He 
looked  ahead  and  could  see  the  high  cliffs 
of  rocks  on  either  side,  which,  for  unknown 
ages  of  time,  had  been  the  impregnable 
bounds  of  that  crowding  torrent  of  waves 
and  spray  and  bubbling  foam  that  rushed 
onward  to  the  falls  below. 

He  reached  for  the  little  paddle,  but  he 
felt  it  would  be  useless.  Every  moment 
the  motion  was  becoming  stronger  and 
more  irresistible.  He  scarcely  felt  the 
thin  planks  between  him  and  the  seething 
stream  below.  He  put  out  the  paddle,  but 
one  blow  from  that  bounding  water  knocked 
it  from  his  hand  and  hurled  it  away,  and 
he  could  see  it  tossed  from  wave  to  wave 
with  a  sportive  motion  that  seemed  to  mock 
him. 

Suddenly  a  thought  occurred  to  him,  at 


His  Heart's  Desire 

which  his  heart  gave  a  great  bound,  and  a 
light,  as  it  had  been  from  heaven,  over 
spread  his  face.  He  knew  that  rescue 
was  impossible,  and  the  idea  that  God  had 
planned  for  him  and  for  Rose- Jewel  this 
release  from  the  pain  of  earth  and  this  en 
trance  into  the  glory  of  heaven  swept  over 
him  with  a  wave  of  joy.  There  were  no 
words  that  he  had  ever  said  more  devoutly 
than,  "  I  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of 
sins,"  and  he  knew  Rose-Jewel  was  al 
ready  a  companion  for  the  angels.  The 
vision  of  a  certain  ecstacy  and  bliss  shone 
all  around  about  him.  O  the  freedom  of 
it,  the  rapture,  the  music  !  Even  the 
dread  of  physical  death  was  nothing  to 
him.  Rose- Jewel  would  be  his  companion, 
and  the  journey  would  be  short ! 

His  one  care  was  that  the  child  should 
not  be  frightened.  She  had  always  an 
swered  to  his  control,  and  he  took  up  the 
violin  now  and  began  to  play. 

"  Listen,  darling,  listen  !  "  he  said,  hold 
ing  her  eyes  with  his  own,  and  drowning 


His  Heart's  Desire 

in  a  flood  of  rich,  keen  melody  the    noise 
of  the  rushing  water. 

And  Rose-Jewel  answered  to  the  insist 
ence  of  those  swelling  sounds  of  music  as 
unquestioningly  as  she  had  ever  done. 
She  forgot  everything,  as  she  bent  forward 
to  listen.  He  leaned  close  to  her,  that 
she  might  not  lose  one  sound.  The 
beauty  of  the  music  that  swelled  out  over 
those  turbulent  waters  was  entrancing, 
even  to  himself.  He  did  not  know  what 
he  was  playing  —  something  he  had  never 
heard  before,  but  something  fit  to  play  in 
those  choirs  of  heaven  to  which  he  was 
going  so  quickly.  He  could  not  wonder 
that  the  child  was  under  the  spell  of  it. 
It  came  to  him  without  one  interruption 
—  an  unbroken  strain  of  divinest  sweet 
ness,  such  as  he  had  never  heard  before. 
In  the  very  midst  of  it,  the  ever-narrow 
ing,  ever-quickening  current  gave  the  little 
boat  such  a  wrench,  that  the  violin  was 
knocked  out  of  his  hand  into  the  leaping 
waters. 

284 


His  Heart's  Desire 

Then  Rose-Jewel  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
turned  to  look  about  her,  but  before  she 
had  faced  the  sight  of  those  terrifying 
waves,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms.  She 
felt  her  little  golden  head  drawn  down 
upon  its  sweet,  familiar  resting-place,  and 
the  arms  of  her  father  folded  close  about 
her.  Words  of  love  and  comfort  and 
reassurance  were  whispered  in  her  ear. 
She  was  being  rocked  into  repose  and  rest 
quite  naturally,  as  she  had  so  often  been 
before,  upon  her  father's  breast. 

There  was  a  sudden  rush  of  something 
cold  and  strange — a  swish  of  sound  —  a 
lurch — a  fall  —  and  then,  still  holding  each 
other  in  the  dear  fondness  of  that  close 
embrace,  the  musician  and  his  little  child 
sank  together  into  death,  and  their  spirits 
soared  forth  into  infinite  music. 


285 


The  Masked   Singer 


The  Masked  Singer 

The  only  objection  which  Edward  Ran 
dall  had  to  his  new  bachelor  apartments 
was  found  in  the  fact,  that  they  looked  out 
upon  some  very  dingy,  dull,  and  gloomy 
houses  opposite.  This  had  been  his  chief 
obstacle  in  deciding  to  take  these  rooms,  but 
there  were  advantages  which  soon  proved 
a  sufficient  offset. 

The  fact  that  he  was  the  only  lodger 
in  Mrs.  Green's  extremely  well-ordered 
house,  and  that  the  elderly  widow  had 
a  delicate  feeling  for  his  old  china  and 
other  perishable  property,  and  looked  after 
the  cleaning  and  arranging  of  his  rooms, 
herself,  was  a  great  thing  for  him ;  and  the 
fact,  also,  that  his  back  windows  looked  out 
upon  a  beautiful  little  bit  of  old  garden  and 
a  wealth  of  greenery  made  the  other  out- 


The  Masked  Singer 

look  seem  comparatively  unimportant.  He 
had  the  whole  of  Mrs.  Green's  second 
floor,  and  beyond  the  sitting  room  there 
was  a  pleasant,  vine-screened  porch  sup 
plied  with  hammocks  and  easy  chairs, 
where,  when  the  weather  was  mild,  he 
could  sit  and  smoke  with  his  friends,  or 
read  or  meditate,  as  the  humor  of  the  hour 
dictated. 

He  was  not  over  thirty-five,  and  yet  the 
fact  was  universally  conceded  that  he  was 
a  confirmed  bachelor — a  matter  of  some 
regret  to  those  of  his  friends  who  held  that 
in  that  condition  his  good  income,  personal 
attractions,  and  lovable  domestic  qualities 
were  more  or  less  wasted. 

The  front  view  from  his  chambers  being 
unpleasing  to  him,  and  the  back  view 
decidedly  pleasing,  he  rarely  drew  aside  the 
curtains  of  the  former  room,  but  one  morn 
ing  when  he  was  rather  idle,  and  also  in 
a  state  of  some  uncertainty  about  the 
weather,  he  went  to  look  out  into  the 
street  to  help  him  to  decide  whether  or  not 
290 


The  Masked  Singer 

to  go  out  before  lunch.  It  was  Sunday 
and  rather  cloudy,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  shabby  buildings  opposite  looked 
duller  and  dingier  than  ever,  when  his 
attention  was  caught  by  the  opening  of  the 
door  of  the  house  directly  facing  him,  and 
the  appearance  on  the  threshold  of  a  young 
girl.  She,  too,  it  seemed,  was  in  some 
uncertainty  about  the  weather,  for  she 
came  out  on  the  steps  and  turned  her  face 
upwards  to  investigate  the  clouds.  In  this 
way,  Randall  was  enabled  to  get  a  full  and 
satisfactory  view  of  this  upturned  face, 
which  was  very  beautiful  —  so  beautiful, 
in  fact,  that  he  felt  the  survey  all  too  brief, 
and  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  strong 
protest  when  the  girl,  with  an  air  of  deci 
sion,  shook  out  the  folds  of  a  thick  blue 
veil  and  fastened  it  around  her  hat,  then 
taking  up  her  umbrella  and  a  little  book, 
which  she  had  laid  aside  in  order  to  pin  on 
her  veil,  quickly  descended  the  steps  and 
walked  away. 

Randall  watched  her  as  far  as  he  could, 
291 


The  Masked  Singer 

and  noted  carefully  every  detail  of  her 
dress,  which  certainly  bordered  on  shabbi- 
ness,  and  was  poor  and  plain  in  material, 
and  yet  had  for  him  a  certain  charm.  It 
could  only  have  been  her  figure  and  her 
movements  which  gave  this  impression, 
for,  contrasted  with  some  very  smart  young 
ladies  who  walked  in  front  of  her,  she  was 
an  object  dull  and  colorless  enough.  These 
young  ladies  had  their  faces  frankly  bared 
to  observation,  but  Randall  turned  from 
them  with  distaste,  to  recall  the  pure  young 
beauty  of  the  face  now  closely  screened 
behind  that  thick  veil. 

He  wondered  much  about  the  young 
girl,  for  she  was  undoubtedly  rarely  beau 
tiful,  and  there  was  an  impression  caught 
from  her  appearance  which  distinctly 
charmed  him.  The  sight  of  the  little  book 
in  her  hand,  together  with  the  ringing  of 
the  church  bells,  assured  him  that  she  was 
on  her  way  to  church,  and  for  the  first 
time  for  a  very  long  while,  he  felt  like 
going  to  church,  himself. 
292 


The  Masked  Singer 

It  was  much  too  late  to  think  of  this, 
however,  for  his  toilet  was  not  begun,  and 
so  he  turned  back  within  the  room,  and 
lounging  in  dressing  gown  and  slippers, 
spent  an  hour  reading  the  morning  papers 
and  smoking.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  he 
started  up  suddenly  and  began  his  toilet, 
with  an  air  of  haste  and  impatience.  As 
soon  as  he  was  dressed,  he  took  his  hat 
and  gloves  and  went  down  stairs.  Just  as 
he  opened  the  front  door,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  young  girl  mounting  the  steps  oppo 
site,  on  her  return  home.  She  was  in  the 
act  of  taking  off  her  veil,  and  Randall 
thought  she  did  so  with  a  certain  air  of 
relief  from  a  bondage  which  irked  her. 
Once  more  he  got  a  brief  impression  of 
that  young  and  exquisite  face,  and  then, 
without  having  looked  at  him  at  all,  she 
opened  the  door  with  a  latch-key  and 
entered  the  gloomy  old  house,  and  the 
dingy  door  closed  behind  her. 

Randall    went    his    way,  and    presently 
found  himself  seated  at  a  beautifully  ap- 
293 


The  Masked  Singer 

pointed  lunch  table  with  a  party  of  gay 
and  brilliant  people,  among  whom  he  was 
made  very  welcome,  and  where  he  laughed 
and  chattered  for  an  hour,  but  throughout 
it  all  he  could  not  shake  off  the  impression 
that  this  girl  had  made  upon  him,  and  her 
pure,  young  face,  and  plain,  dark  garments 
rose  before  his  vision,  as  alien  to  this 
scene  as  the  impression  of  some  rapt, 
ascetic  nun. 

After  lunch  there  was  a  general  demand 
that  Mr.  Randall  should  play  to  them,  and 
rather  more  obligingly  than  usual  he 
yielded  to  the  request,  and,  going  to  the 
piano,  he  began  with  certain  powerful 
chords  and  impressive  pauses,  that  soon 
compelled  the  company  to  perfect  silence 
and  attention.  He  was  a  fine  musician, 
and  quite  accustomed  to  having  his  playing 
treated  deferentially,  but  he  did  not  often 
take  the  trouble  to  play  to  people  as  he 
was  playing  now.  His  audience  had  ex 
pected  something  light  and  brilliant,  and 
instead  of  that  it  was  only  sacred  music 
294 


The  Masked  Singer 

that  he  played  —  harmonies  and  masses 
from  the  great  masters  of  old,  with  an  im 
provised  arrangement  and  connection  of 
his  own. 

He  rose  from  the  piano  and  said  good 
bye  abruptly,  hurrying  away  from  the 
enthusiastic  praise  of  his  audience,  and 
walking  quickly  back  to  his  lodgings, 
where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
Some  men  dropped  in  to  see  him,  but 
either  they  were  hurried,  or  they  found 
him  unamusing,  for  they  presently  went 
away,  and  at  twilight  he  was  left  alone. 

More  than  once,  he  had  gone  to  look 
out  on  the  opposite  house,  but  the  dull, 
gray  front  of  that  dismal  structure  was 
unsuggestive  of  the  least  hint  of  its  radiant 
young  inmate.  When  the  lamps  were 
lighted,  at  last,  and  the  curtains  drawn,  and 
the  servant,  having  attended  to  his  com 
fort,  had  left  him  quite  alone  for  the  even 
ing,  he  opened  his  piano  and  began  to 
play.  It  must  have  been  for  hours  that 
he  sat  there,  with  no  music  before  him, 
295 


The  Masked  Singer 

playing  on  and  on,  and  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking  to  those  beautiful  strains. 

Of  course,  he  did  not  fancy  anything 
so  absurd  as  that  he  was  in  love  with  this 
young  girl,  whose  face  and  nearness  so 
possessed  him;  that  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  But  what  he  did  feel  was  that  a 
quality  in  her  face  had  roused  to  new 
being  a  certain  ideal  which  had  once  held 
him,  and  which  in  recent  years  had  been 
losing  its  hold. 

Randall  had  an  ardent  and  romantic 
nature,  subdued  by  circumstance  and  rear 
ing  into  conventional  conformity.  The 
passion  of  his  life  was  music,  and  although 
he  was  a  more  or  less  earnest  and  success 
ful  lawyer,  the  hearing  of  good  music  and 
the  cultivation  of  his  own  musical  gift  was 
the  strongest  interest  of  his  life.  His 
friends  wondered  that  he  had  not  married, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  wondered  at 
that  fact  as  much  as  they.  If  they  were 
ignorant  of  his  reason  though,  he,  himself, 
was  not.  He  knew  well  that  it  was  be- 
296 


The  Masked  Singer 

cause  he  had,  so  far  in  life,  met  no  woman 
whose  nature  and  personality  made  the 
appeal  to  him,  and  satisfied  the  desire  of 
his  soul,  in  the  way  that  music  appealed  to 
and  satisfied  him,  and  what  he  wondered 
at  was,  that  in  all  his  wide  acquaintance  he 
had  never  seen  this  woman.  He  had 
grown  tired  of  looking  for  her,  at  last,  and 
had  even  deliberately  considered  the  advis 
ability  of  marrying  a  person  who  would 
have  compelled  a  lowering  of  his  ideal. 
A  real,  definite  woman  had  been  consid 
ered  in  this  light,  a  woman  with  beauty, 
good  breeding,  position,  and  money,  whom 
he  thought  he  might  win;  but  this  woman 
not  only  was  not  musical  herself,  but  she 
contradicted  the  ideal  which  seemed  to  go 
hand  in  hand  with  music  in  his  soul. 

No,  certainly  he  was  not  in  love  with 
this  opposite  neighbor  of  his,  but  the  re 
markable  effect  which  she  had  had  upon 
him  was  to  rouse  in  him  the  belief  of  the 
possibility  of  realizing  this  vanished  ideal. 
There  was  something  in  her  that  seemed 
297 


The  Masked  Singer 

to  tell  him  that  what  he  had  dreamed  of 
might  still  be.  It  was  her  face  only  that 
had  done  this.  He  had  not  seen  the  out 
line  of  her  figure,  for  that  had  been  con 
cealed  by  a  long  black  cloak,  that  was 
loose  from  neck  to  hem.  And  even  more 
than  this,  he  had  not  heard  her  voice. 
Randall  had  always  conceived  that  his 
ideal  woman  would  sing,  though  that  was 
not  a  necessity  with  him,  but  he  was  so 
susceptible  to  the  influence  of  sound  that 
a  coarse,  or  nasal,  or  discordant  voice, 
even  in  speaking,  would  have  killed  the 
most  fiery  love  that  charm  or  beauty  could 
arouse.  He  suddenly  felt  a  great  desire 
to  know  if  this  exquisite  girl  could  sing, 
or  to  hear  her  speak.  It  was  not  so  much 
an  emotional  stirring  of  love  which  she 
had  aroused  in  him,  as  a  sort  of  spirit 
of  intellectual  investigation.  He  knew 
that  she  had  a  face  that  might  belong  to 
his  ideal  woman,  and  he  wondered  if  her 
voice  would  carry  out  the  idea. 

These  thoughts  absorbed  him,  while  he 
298 


The  Masked  Singer 

was  playing,  and  he  began  to  imagine  plans 
by  which  he  might  hear  her  speak  or  sing. 
He  could  think  of  nothing,  except  to  fol 
low  her  to  church  some  Sunday,  and  get  a 
seat  near  her  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
join  in  the  hymns,  but  the  girl  evidently 
went  out  alone  and  unprotected,  and  he 
could  not  quite  get  his  consent  to  follow 
ing  and  watching  her. 

Well,  whoever  she  was,  and  whatever 
her  nature  and  qualities,  she  had  certainly 
managed  to  make  a  greater  impression  on 
the  not  very  susceptible  mind  of  Mr. 
Edward  Randall,  than  that  mind  had  re 
ceived  for  many  a  long  day.  He  went  to 
sleep  that  night  with  a  sense  of  newness 
and  strangeness  upon  him,  and  he  waked 
next  morning  with  a  distinct  impression 
that  some  important  change  had  come  into 
his  life.  When  he  remembered  what  it 
was  he  smiled  at  himself;  but  all  the  same, 
the  impression  remained. 

For  several  days  Randall  watched  the 
house  opposite,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  again 
299 


The  Masked  Singer 

this  charming  girl;  but  it  was  in  vain. 
Other  people  came  and  went,  for  the 
house  was  evidently  let  out  to  lodgers,  but 
they  were  of  the  most  uninteresting  of  the 
lodging-house  class ;  indeed,  as  a  rule, 
they  were  such  people  as  it  irked  him 
to  think  of  as  living  under  the  same  roof 
with  the  lovely  girl. 

One  afternoon,  however,  as  he  was 
going  out  he  saw  coming  down  the  steps 
opposite  a  tall,  slight  figure  in  a  long, 
black  cloak,  which  he  recognized  at  once, 
though  this  time  the  face  was  carefully 
veiled  before  coming  into  the  street.  This 
fact  seemed  a  little  singular,  as  it  was 
getting  on  toward  twilight  of  a  mild  spring 
day.  He  kept  the  tall  figure  well  in  sight, 
as  he  happened  to  be  going  the  same  way, 
and  even  crossed  the  street  that  he  might 
observe  her  more  directly.  This  fact  put 
a  wide  space  between  them  which  even 
his  rapid  walking  did  not  soon  decrease, 
as  the  woman's  figure  moved  very  swiftly, 
and  as  if  with  some  definite  and  important 
300 


The  Masked  Singer 

object.  When  she  came  at  last  to  one  of 
the  small  public  parks  that  relieved  the 
sense  of  dense  habitation  of  that  part  of 
the  great  city,  Randall  observed  ahead  of 
her  a  little  gathering  of  people,  mostly 
children,  who  had  collected  around  an  ob 
ject  which  he  at  once  recognized. 

A  cart  and  horse  were  drawn  up  to  the 
sidewalk,  and  in  this  light  wagon  was  a 
small,  upright  piano.  The  instrument  was 
open,  and  a  man  with  a  small  black  mask 
concealing  that  part  of  the  face  which  was 
not  hidden  by  a  black  beard,  sat  on  the  stool 
before  it,  waiting.  Randall  had  seen  this 
sort  of  thing  in  London,  but  it  was  new 
to  him  here.  It  had  no  interest  for  him, 
however,  and  he  would  not  have  given  the 
thing  another  thought  had  not  the  woman's 
figure,  which  he  was  watching,  crossed  di 
rectly  over  to  this  cart  and  the  man  before 
the  piano  recognized  her  with  a  gesture  of 
satisfaction.  He  further  saw  her  go  straight 
to  the  side  of  the  cart,  where  she  paused  a 
moment  to  take  off  her  veil,  revealing  the 
301 


The  Masked  Singer 

fact  that  she  was  masked,  also.  A  close 
covering  of  black  satin  hid  the  upper  part 
of  her  face,  and  a  frill  of  black  lace  con 
cealed  the  mouth  and  chin.  The  disguise 
was  absolute,  and  he  could  have  formed 
no  idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  woman, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  vivid  image  stamped 
upon  his  memory. 

He  felt  a  sense  of  shock  at  seeing  her 
placed  in  such  a  position  —  a  girl  with  a 
face  like  that,  a  common  street-singer ! 
True,  the  face  was  hidden  from  view,  but 
that  air  of  concealment  and  mystery  made 
it  seem  almost  worse.  He  rebelled,  evi 
dently,  too,  against  the  thought  of  the  man 
with  his  shabby  clothes  and  unkempt  beard. 
He  had  half  a  mind  to  turn  and  fly,  but  if 
she  was  going  to  sing  he  must  hear  her 
voice.  If  it  should  not  match  her  face, 
he  would  be  bitterly  disappointed  —  but  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  should,  how  could  he 
bear  her  being  in  such  a  situation  as  the 
present  one  ? 

As  he  saw  the  tall,  slight  figure  mount 
302 


The  Masked  Singer 

into  the  cart,  Randall  felt  so  really  agitated 
over  the  issue  ahead  of  him,  that  he  sank 
upon  one  of  the  benches  in  the  square  and 
waited  with  intense  interest  for  the  music 
to  begin.  Some  chords  were  struck  upon 
the  piano,  introducing  a  brief  prelude, 
which  the  masked  man  executed  in  a  way 
that  proved  him,  to  Randall's  cultivated 
ear,  to  be  a  well-trained  pianist.  But  while 
the  young  man  recognized  this  fact,  he 
looked  only  at  the  woman.  She  wore 
above  her  mask  a  hat  with  a  little  brim, 
under  which  her  hair  was  all  concealed, 
and  between  this  and  the  shape  of  the 
mask,  which  was  so  made  as  to  stand  a 
little  out  from  the  upper  part  of  the  face, 
he  could  not  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  her 
eyes.  Randall  had  a  swift  mental  vision 
of  the  loveliness,  pureness,  ideality  of  that 
hidden  face,  that  stirred  his  heart  with  a 
vague  sweetness,  when  suddenly  upon  this 
tender  mood  there  fell  a  sound  which  made 
a  discord  in  the  harmony. 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  singing  a  popu- 
303 


The  Masked  Singer 

lar  air  in  a  manner  so  finished  and  correct 
that  the  method  of  it  startled  him  with 
surprise  and  appreciation,  even  while  the 
voice  itself  repelled  him.  He  listened 
intently  to  every  note.  What  was  the 
matter  with  this  voice  ?  It  was  that  of  a 
thoroughly  trained  and  practiced  singer, 
and  yet  it  seemed  as  if,  in  some  way,  it  had 
been  hurt.  The  low  notes  were  hard  and 
husky,  the  high  notes  were  thin  and  weak. 
All  of  this  might  be  accounted  for  by  some 
disastrous  illness  or  throat  trouble,  but 
even  while  he  made  this  allowance,  there 
was  something  in  the  quality,  or  character, 
or  individuality  of  the  voice,  itself,  even 
when  singing  the  middle  notes,  which 
caused  no  strain,  that  stung  the  man  who 
listened  with  a  sharp  pang  of  disappoint 
ment — a  certain  quality  of  hardness,  even 
commonness,  which  was  the  direct  con 
tradiction  of  that  fair  and  sensitive  young 
face. 

The     selection     ended,     and     Randall, 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  roused  himself  and 
3°4 


The  Masked  Singer 

looked  around  upon  the  crowd  which  had 
gathered.  They  were  a  motley  throng, 
composed  of  children,  nurses,  tramps, 
policemen,  and  aimless  idlers  of  various 
classes.  When  Randall  remembered  the 
girl's  face,  his  heart  resented  them  all  vio 
lently;  when  he  thought  of  her  voice,  the 
tones  of  which  still  lingered  in  his  ear,  he 
did  not  care  ! 

But  the  voice  was  beginning  again,  and 
again  he  turned  and  listened.  This  time 
it  was  Schubert's  serenade  that  she  sang, 
and  her  technique  seemed  to  him  abso 
lutely  perfect.  Her  voice,  however,  was 
colder,  poorer,  more  expressionless  than 
before,  and  he  rose  as  it  ended,  with  an 
impatient  desire  to  get  away.  He  could 
have  stood  any  fault  of  method,  had  the 
voice  itself  been  beautiful  and  sympathetic, 
but  the  voice  distinctly  antagonized  him. 
Before  he  had  moved  from  his  place,  how 
ever,  he  saw  the  woman  getting  out  of  the 
cart  with  a  little  basket  in  her  hand,  and 
he  remembered  that  he  was  supposed  to 
305 


The  Masked  Singer 

pay  for  the  feast  of  which  he  had  just  par 
taken.  He  sat  down  again,  and  waited  for 
her  to  come  to  him. 

As  she  drew  nearer,  and  he  heard  the 
small  coins  clinking  lightly  in  the  basket, 
a  feeling  of  what  was  almost  disgust  took 
possession  of  him.  He  saw  looks  of  bold 
curiosity  turned  upon  her  from  every  side. 
He  even  heard  certain  comments,  which, 
when  he  thought  of  the  face  upturned  to 
the  sky  that  Sunday  morning,  made  him 
hot  with  indignation.  When  he  recalled 
the  voice,  however,  he  was  able  to  control 
himself. 

As  the  singer  approached  him,  he  saw 
that  her  eyes,  of  which  he  sought  eagerly 
to  catch  a  glimpse,  were  uniformly  cast 
down,  so  that  even  when  the  light  fell  so 
as  to  enable  him  to  penetrate  the  shadows 
of  the  mask,  he  saw  only  a  pair  of  lowered 
lids. 

An  idea  struck  him,  and  as  she  came 
toward  him  he  took  a  silver  dollar  from 
his  pocket  and  dropped  it  into  the  basket. 
306 


The  Masked  Singer 

He  hoped  that  the  unusual  size  of  the 
coin  might  cause  her  to  look  up,  but  it  did 
not.  She  made  a  little  gesture  of  acknowl 
edgment,  as  she  had  done  for  the  pennies 
and  dimes  already  received,  and  walked 
swiftly  on.  Even  the  hand  that  held  the 
basket  was  covered  by  a  thick  glove,  which 
revealed  nothing  of  its  shape  or  character. 

As  she  remounted  to  her  place,  handing 
the  basket  over  to  the  man,  who  poured  the 
contents  into  his  pocket,  Randall  walked 
away.  His  pace  quickened  suddenly,  as  he 
heard  behind  him  the  voice  that  had  so 
repelled  him,  singing  with  that  beautiful 
method,  which  compelled  admiration  in 
spite  of  himself,  the  words  and  music  of 
"After  the  Ball." 

The  effect  of  this  experience  upon  Ran 
dall  was  to  make  him  resolve  to  put  his 
opposite  neighbor  completely  out  of  his 
head,  a  thing  he  might  have  accomplished, 
but  for  a  circumstance  which  occurred  the 
very  next  morning. 

The  day  was  very  mild  and  beautiful, 
307 


The  Masked  Singer 

and  his  front  windows  had  been  left  wide 
open  by  the  maid  who  had  done  up  his 
room.  Randall  went  to  one  of  them, 
and  stood  with  the  lace  curtains  shoved 
aside  by  his  elbows,  his  hands  resting 
lightly  in  his  pockets.  The  people  over 
the  way  seemed  to  be  making  the  most 
of  the  spring  sunshine  also,  for  the  win 
dows  were  open  all  along,  and  in  some 
cases,  even  the  doors.  The  streets,  still 
damp  from  yesterday's  rainfall,  were  send 
ing  up  a  faint  steam  under  the  warm  sun 
shine,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  perfect 
epidemic  of  pavement  cleaning  in  progress, 
Servant  maids  with  hose  or  brooms  were 
working  away  vigorously,  and  the  fresh 
young  green  on  the  budding  branches  rose 
above  all  this,  as  if  the  toilets  of  the  trees 
had  been  completed  before  those  of  the 
pavements  were  begun. 

Randall    had   determined   to   forget  his 

neighbor  with  the  beautiful  face  and  un- 

beautiful  voice,  and  in  order  that  he  might 

emphasize  this  resolution,  he  looked  hard 

308 


The  Masked  Singer 

at  the  door  of  her  house,  which  happened 
to  be  one  of  those  that  stood  open. 

He  could  not  penetrate  far  into  the  dark 
chasm  of  a  hall  which  the  opening  revealed, 
but  as  he  looked,  out  of  the  darkness  there 
sprang  a  jet  black  object,  which,  as  it 
bounded  into  the  street,  he  saw  to  be  a 
rather  large  black  kitten.  He  knew  from 
its  precipitous  rush  that  some  one  must  be 
after  it,  and  the  some  one  proved  to  be 
the  beautiful  young  girl. 

If  she  had  been  beautiful  before,  with 
her  long  dark  cloak  and  the  severe  little 
hat  that  hid  both  her  head  and  her  hair, 
what  was  she  now,  in  a  fresh  pink  cotton 
gown  that  revealed  every  curve  of  her 
slight  and  exquisite  young  figure,  and  her 
lovely  face,  surmounted  by  a  rippling  mass 
of  bright  gold-brown  hair. 

As  Randall  looked  down  on  her  through 
the  budding  green  of  the  trees,  she  seemed 
of  a  piece  with  them,  as  if  she  might  be 
the  bloom  that  was  the  consummation  of 
all  their  verdant  leafage.  Instinctively,  he 
309 


The  Masked  Singer 

stepped  back  behind  the  curtains,  and  con 
cealing  himself,  carefully  watched  the 
scene  that  followed.  The  black  kitten, 
evidently  used  to  games  of  romps  with  its 
mistress,  had  scudded  wildly  down  the 
steps  and  scrambled  up  into  the  veranda 
of  the  next  house,  where  it  sat  compla 
cently  on  the  railing,  to  see  what  was  to 
follow.  The  girl,  with  a  look  that  was  a 
compound  of  desperation  and  amusement, 
sat  down  on  the  steps,  with  the  evident 
intention  of  coaxing  the  kitten  to  come  to 
her. 

"  Minnie,  Minnie,  Minnie  !  "  she  said 
enticingly,  holding  out  a  lovely  hand  and 
making  little  curling  gestures  with  the 
delicate  fingers.  At  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  raised  a  little  high,  so  as  to  reach 
the  kitten,  Randall  started  and  caught  his 
breath.  It  was  musical,  clear,  refined, 
harmonious,  the  very  complement  of  her 
face  and  figure  !  He  had  heard  of  such 
things,  where  some  serious  illness  or  in 
jury  had  ruined  a  voice  for  singing,  but 
310 


The  Masked  Singer 

left  its  speaking  quality  untouched  !  Oh, 
why  should  she  ever  sing,  he  thought ! 
And  why  should  he  ever  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  hear  her  ?  All  the  time 
that  he  was  thinking  these  thoughts,  that 
vision  of  youthful  loveliness  was  there 
before  his  eyes. 

Her  figure  was  charming,  as  she  sat  on 
the  doorstep  and  continued  to  coax  the 
kitten,  in  that  beautiful  voice  of  appeal; 
but  it  was  more  than  charming,  it  was 
adorable,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  and,  with 
stealthy  motions  of  consummate  grace, 
began  to  creep  toward  the  kitten,  which  sat, 
with  a  wary  pretense  of  unconsciousness, 
perched  upon  the  railing.  At  last,  when 
she  was  very  near,  and  the  kitten  as  still 
as  a  statue,  she  darted  forward  and  had 
almost  seized  it,  when  with  the  agility  of 
a  squirrel,  the  little  black  creature,  with 
one  mad  rush,  sprang  to  the  pavement, 
flew  across  the  street,  and  scrambling  up 
the  rough  trunk  of  an  old  wistaria  vine,  in 
a  flutter  of  fun  and  excitement  darted 


The  Masked  Singer 

o 

through  the  open  window,  and  jumped  into 
Randall's  room. 

In  an  instant  he  captured  it,  and  running 
down  stairs  and  out  of  the  front  door 
bareheaded,  he  swiftly  crossed  the  muddy 
street  to  the  detriment  of  his  patent  leather 
boots,  and  gave  the  kitten  into  the  hands 
of  its  young  mistress,  who  stood  spellbound 
on  the  pavement,  in  startled  wonderment 
at  this  sudden  prank  of  her  pet. 

It  was  a  quiet  street,  and  there  was  no 
one  in  sight  except,  at  a  little  distance,  the 
servants,  who  were  so  busy  with  their 
swishing  and  sweeping  that  apparently 
they  had  not  observed  the  little  scene. 

Randall,  as  he  stood  there,  in  the  sweet 
spring  sunshine,  face  to  face  with  this 
creature  of  his  dreams  and  thoughts,  took 
in  every  detail  of  her  blooming  loveliness, 
more  rich  than  ever  now,  by  reason  of  a 
brilliant  blush  which  had  come  into  her 
face.  As  she  received  the  kitten  from 
his  hands  she  said  a  demure,  "  Thank 
you." 

312 


The  Masked  Singer 

D 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered,  "  for  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  such  a  feat.  You 
could  match  your  kitten  with  a  squirrel,, 
any  day,  and  I  'm  afraid  your  chance  of 
holding  on  to  it,  in  a  city,  is  very  small." 

"O,  I  never  let  him  get  out!"  she  said 
with  sudden  anxiety.  "  He  fooled  me  this 
time,  but  he  shall  not  do  it  again,"  and  as 
she  spoke  she  gave  the  offender  a  sharp  lit 
tle  slap,  which  so  excited  it,  that  with  a  sud 
den  wrench  it  sprang  from  her  arms  and 
bounded  away,  she  and  Randall  following 
in  mad  pursuit.  Randall  had  once  done 
notable  running  in  a  football  team  at  col 
lege,  and  in  the  frantic  spurt  with  which  he 
darted  after  the  kitten,  his  old  training  told, 
and  he  quickly  overtook  and  captured  it. 
When  he  turned  and  faced  the  kitten's 
mistress,  both  of  them  were  flushed  and 
laughing,  and  rather  breathless. 

u  Oh,  how  kind  you  are !  Oh,  you 
little  brute  ! "  the  girl  exclaimed,  address 
ing  the  man  and  the  kitten  in  one  breath. 
As  she  held  out  her  hands  to  take  the 


The  Masked  Singer 

struggling  creature  from  him,  he  drew  it 
back. 

"  No,  I  will  take  him  as  far  as  the  door 
for  you,"  he  said.  "  He  's  not  in  the  least 
to  be  trusted,  and  would  be  off  and  away 
now,  if  he  could.  Poor  little  beast!  I  fancy 
it 's  hard  to  be  shut  up  in  a  close  house  all 
the  time,  and  the  chance  of  escape  was  too 
much." 

"  Yes,  he  misses  the  country  so,  and  so 
do  I !  I  ought  to  have  pity  on  Tommy, 
for  I  'd  run  from  the  city,  too,  if  I  could, 
and  if  I  saw  an  open  door." 

They  had  reached  the  house  now,  and 
mounted  the  steps,  side  by  side.  He  made 
her  go  inside  and  close  the  door,  leaving 
just  enough  space  for  him  to  hand  the 
wriggling  Tommy  through.  As  the  little 
black  object  passed  from  his  hands  to  hers, 
she  looked  up  at  him  out  of  the  gloom  with 
in,  and  said  a  fervent,  "Thank  you."  Her 
glance  was  frank  and  simple  as  a  child's, 
but,  all  the  same,  it  sent  him  back  across 
the  street  with  a  heart  whose  quick  thump- 
3H 


The  Masked  Singer 

ing  was  not  wholly  due  to  the  rather  vio 
lent  exercise  which  he  had  had. 

Randall  returned  to  the  meditations  of 
his  own  room  more  puzzled  than  ever;  and 
if  his  interest  in  the  girl  of  whom  he  had 
simply  had  a  glimpse  from  afar,  had  been 
great  before,  what  was  it  now  that  he  had 
seen,  in  the  glaring  sunlight,  only  a  pace  or 
two  away  from  him,  the  exquisite  perfection 
of  her  loveliness,  and  had  heard  the  refined 
and  educated  utterance  of  a  voice  which 
lingered  in  his  ear  as  one  of  the  very  sweet 
est  to  which  he  had  ever  listened  ?  Then, 
too,  her  impetuously  expressed  longing  for 
the  country,  and  hatred  of  the  city,  seemed 
a  strange  note  to  be  struck  by  this  being, 
whom  with  his  own  eyes  he  had  seen  as  a 
common  street  musician,  truckling  to  the 
vulgar  taste  of  a  crowd  of  loafers,  and  hold 
ing  out  her  hands  to  receive  their  dirty 
pennies.  As  he  recalled  the  scene,  the 
memory  of  that  strident,  ineffectual,  hard, 
discordant  voice  came  to  him,  and  he  found 
himself  in  a  state  of  tempestuous  protest 


The  Masked  Singer 

against  the  whole  thing.  How  could  that 
fair,  idyllic  girl  descend  to  the  playing  of 
such  a  part,  and  how  could  such  singing 
go  with  such  a  face  and  figure?  He  had 
looked  in  vain  for  any  signs  of  illness 
which  might  account  for  it.  She  seemed 
the  emblem  of  eternal  youth  and  health. 
Then  came  the  memory  of  that  look  that 
she  had  flashed  upon  him  from  the  gloom, 
and  brought  with  it  certain  thoughts  and 
aspirations,  which  had  not  been  stirred 
within  him  for  long  and  saddened  years. 

The  Sunday  after  the  episode  with  the 
kitten,  Randall  came  out  of  his  lodgings 
at  a  little  before  eleven  o'clock,  and  saw 
across  the  street,  just  ahead  of  him,  the 
well-known  figure  in  the  long  black  cloak, 
with  the  close  veil  around  the  face.  He 
had  watched  the  opposite  house  for  days, 
but  had  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  figure. 
Other  lodgers  came  and  went  (for  the 
house  seemed  a  crowded  one),  but  not  the 
one  he  sought.  He  had  started  out  rather 
aimlessly  this  morning,  and  he  saw  no 
3I6 


The  Masked  Singer 

reason  why,  in  taking  his  airing,  he  should 
not  keep  the  graceful  figure  ahead  of  him 
in  view,  particularly  as  he,  himself,  could 
not  have  been  observed  by  her.  So,  for  a 
long  distance  he  walked  after  her  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  until  at  last  she 
turned  and  joined  the  straggling  stream  of 
people  that  seemed  setting  toward  a  small 
new  church  —  one  of  the  little  mission 
places  so  common  now  in  our  great  cities. 
Randall  quoted  to  himself  the  lines  : 

"She  went  to  a  cheap,   cheap  church 
That  stood  in   a  back,   back  street," 

and  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the  new  com- 
plicatedness  of  the  aspect  of  things.  And 
when  she  joined  the  crowd  and  entered,  a 
sudden  wish  to  go  to  church  himself  came 
over  him,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  indulge  it.  He  did  so  accord 
ingly,  and  being  told  that  the  seats  were  all 
free,  he  presently  found  himself  placed  a 
little  behind  the  young  girl,  so  that  he 
could  have  a  distinct  view  of  her  profile 
during  the  entire  service.  He  was  secure 


The  Masked  Singer 

in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  not  been 
observed,  and  his  presence,  therefore,  could 
cause  her  no  annoyance.  He  watched  her 
furtively  as  she  sank  upon  her  knees,  bury 
ing  her  veiled  face  in  two  exquisite  little 
shabbily-gloved  hands,  and  remained  for 
some  moments  in  silent  prayer.  What  a 
wretch  of  a  creature  he  suddenly  felt  him 
self  to  be,  and  what  a  yearning  he  had  to 
ask  her  to  pray  for  him! 

When  she  got  up  presently  and  took 
her  seat,  his  heart  quickened  to  see  her 
raise  her  hand  to  unfasten  her  veil.  How 
odd  it  appeared  that  no  one  else  seemed  to 
be  noticing  or  caring  !  The  congregation 
was  composed  chiefly  of  people  with  stolid 
faces  and  rather  dull  expressions,  and 
Randall  was  further  surprised  to  see  that 
no  one  manifested  any  interest  when  this 
beautiful  young  face  was  exposed  to  view. 
He  had  occasion,  however,  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  this  indifference,  since  it  ex 
tended  to  himself,  as  well,  and  left  him  free 
to  look  toward  his  lovely  neighbor  very 


The  Masked  Singer 

often.  He  had  to  admit  that  she  was  as 
unconscious  of  the  rest  of  the  congrega 
tion  as  he,  though  no  one  else  that  he 
could  see  betrayed  such  absorbed  con 
sciousness  of  the  effect  of  the  service.  It 
was  a  high-church  service,  and  this  young 
girl  went  through  all  the  rather  elaborate 
forms  with  an  intense  devotion  and  ab 
sorption,  that  for  some  unknown  reason 
almost  made  him  feel  resentful. 

The  more  Randall  looked  at  her,  the 
more  lovely  and  lovable  did  she  appear. 
It  was  quite,  quite  the  most  beautiful  face 
that  he  had  ever  seen,  he  decided,  and  his 
heart  was  somehow  more  attuned  to  wor 
ship  to-day  than  he  had  felt  it  for  many  a 
year. 

At  last,  a  hymn  was  given  out,  and  the 
congregation  rose.  Randall  jumped  up 
rather  suddenly  with  a  positive  instinct  of 
flight.  He  did  not  want  to  hear  her  sing. 
He  could  not  bear  to  stand  so  near  and 
see  those  most  lovely  lips  part  and  send 
forth  such  a  voice  as  he  knew,  alas,  must 


The  Masked  Singer 

issue  from  them  !  But  while  he  hesitated, 
the  music  began,  and  the  sweet  lips  re 
mained  closed  and  immovable,  except  for 
a  little  tremor  which  he  fancied  he  saw, 
as  the  girl's  eyes  followed  the  words  in 
her  book. 

When  the  hymn  ended,  and  the  congre 
gation  knelt,  he  saw  the  young  girl  hide 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  quickly  take  up  her  thick  veil 
and  pin  it  on  securely. 

He  let  her  go  ahead  of  him  on  leaving 
the  church,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
observed.  He  did  not  follow  her  home, 
however,  but  went  instead  to  the  club,  and 
joined  a  group  of  chattering  men  in  a  bay- 
window,  and  listened  for  half  an  hour  to 
their  vapid  comments  on  the  smartly- 
dressed  men  and  women  who  went  by, 
feeling  all  the  time  a  dull  ache  in  his  heart 
for  that  sensitive,  lonely,  probably  unhappy 
girl,  whose  loveliness,  even  in  her  shabby 
clothes  in  that  little  mission  chapel,  made 
the  most  fashionable  of  the  women  who 
320 


The  Masked  Singer 

passed  him  seem  trivial  and  vulgar  by 
comparison. 

For  several  days,  Randall  carried  this 
lovely  vision  in  his  mind,  until  one  after 
noon,  in  a  populous  business  neighborhood, 
he  came  suddenly  upon  a  group  of  people 
assembled  around  the  familiar  horse  and 
cart  and  the  pair  of  musicians.  He  wanted 
to  retreat,  but  he  forced  himself  to  stop 
and  join  the  crowd,  wondering  what  effect 
his  presence  would  have  upon  her,  if  she 
should  see  and  recognize  him.  So  he 
took  his  place  conspicuously,  and  listened 
with  indignant  protest  as  she  sang,  in 
popular  style,  with  a  vulgar  abandon  that 
made  him  positively  furious,  the  familiar 
strains  of  "  Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay  !  " 

The  voice  was  grating  and  unlovely  as 
before,  but  again  he  felt  amazed  at  the 
marvelous  method  of  the  singer,  and  the 
spirit  with  which  she  gave  the  song  called 
forth  an  encore,  after  which  she  got  out 
of  the  cart  and  passed  around  the  basket. 
When  she  came  to  Randall,  he  purposely 
321 


The  Masked  Singer 

fumbled  several  seconds  with  his  change, 
hoping  that  she  might  look  up  at  him,  but 
when  she  persistently  looked  down,  he 
fancied  that  if  she  saw  him,  she  was 
ashamed  to  reveal  herself  to  him.  Well 
she  might  be,  he  thought,  and  tossing 
some  loose  coins  into  the  basket,  he  was 
about  to  walk  away,  when  he  heard  a  man 
standing  near  say  some  words  to  the 
woman  as  she  held  out  her  basket  to  him, 
which  roused  such  fury  in  Randall's  soul, 
that  before  the  insult  had  died  upon  the 
fellow's  lips,  he  found  himself  seized  by 
the  shoulders,  and  hurled  aside  with  a  blow 
from  so  powerful  an  arm  that  it  sent  him 
staggering  against  a  tree.  At  the  same  in 
stant,  Randall  saw  the  woman,  with  a 
movement  of  fright,  run  swiftly  toward 
the  cart.  Before  she  reached  the  cart, 
however,  the  man  at  the  piano  had  sprung 
from  his  place,  and  had  rushed  after  the 
fellow  whose  words  had  caused  the  dis 
turbance,  but  who,  warned  by  the  punish 
ment  which  he  had  already  received,  had 
322 


The  Masked  Singer 

made  the  best  use  of  his  time  and  had 
escaped.  Seeing  this,  the  pianist  turned 
and,  coming  toward  Randall,  said  in  a 
voice  of  controlled  agitation,  "  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  what  you 
did." 

Randall,  who  was  in  a  state  of  disgust 
at  the  whole  performance,  waved  aside  the 
man's  thanks,  and  rapidly  walked  away. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  Randall 
was  a  prey  to  conflicting  impressions,  that 
kept  him  in  a  continual  state  of  excite 
ment  and  restlessness.  He  had  got  up 
an  interest  in  the  working  of  the  mission 
chapel,  and  the  evident  help  which  it  gave 
to  those  poor  working  people,  and  it 
pleased  him  to  find  a  really  satisfactory 
object  for  the  expenditure  of  some  of  his 
spare  cash,  so  he  went  to  church  every 
Sunday  there,  and  contributed  liberally  to 
the  work.  He  did  not  deceive  himself  as 
to  the  prime  object  of  his  attendance.  He 
knew  it  was  because  his  beautiful  neighbor 
went  there,  but  his  interest  in  the  work 
323 


The  Masked  Singer 

was  sincere.  He  had  more  than  once 
encountered  the  young  girl  in  coming 
and  going  from  the  church,  and  upon 
these  occasions  it  was  his  habit  to  lift 
his  hat  and  to  bow  respectfully,  just  as  it 
was  her  habit  to  return  this  greeting  by  a 
brilliant  and  beautifying  blush.  It  made 
her  adorably  lovely,  and  as  she  now  habit 
ually  removed  her  veil  before  entering  the 
church,  and  did  not  replace  it  until  after 
leaving,  he  had  the  full  benefit  of  it.  If 
he  chanced  to  meet  her  on  the  street  away 
from  the  church,  she  was  always  closely 
veiled,  but  usually  he  managed  to  bow  to 
her,  as  she  was  entering  or  leaving. 

But  if  the  experiences  of  his  Sundays 
gave  him  pleasure,  it  was  more  than  coun 
terbalanced  by  the  pain  he  felt  in  the 
experiences  of  his  week  days.  Try  as  he 
might  to  avoid  the  humiliating  spectacle 
(and  he  did  make  a  great  effort)  he  was 
liable  at  any  turn  to  run  against  that  rusty 
cart,  sleepy  old  pony,  and  the  pair  of  musi 
cians.  He  had  had  a  sort  of  hope  that  the 
324 


The  Masked  Singer 

experience  with  the  brute  who  had  insulted 
the  girl  would  stop  these  performances  for 
the  future,  but  he  found  that  they  went  on 
just  the  same  as  ever.  He  could  only 
conclude  from  this,  that  the  man  who  per 
formed  with  her  was  oblivious  of,  or  indif 
ferent  to,  her  need  of  protection. 

Randall  did  not  always  sit  near  her 
in  church.  Sometimes  he  even  forced 
himself  to  take  a  seat  where  he  could  not 
look  at  her  at  all,  but  it  was  something  to 
him  to  feel  her  nearness.  One  Sunday, 
however,  he  thought  he  had  won  the  right 
to  treat  himself  to  an  unusual  indulgence 
of  proximity,  so  on  entering  the  church, 
after  she  had  taken  her  usual  place,  he 
quietly  walked  into  the  seat  on  a  line  with 
her,  and  took  his  place  near  the  end,  where 
he  was  only  separated  from  her  by  the 
partition  dividing  the  pews.  Never  in  his 
life  had  his  manner  been  more  quiet  and 
composed,  than  as  he  sat  there,  profoundly 
still,  with  his  eyes  fixed  attentively  upon  the 
preacher.  He  knew  that  she  had  recog- 
325 


The  Masked  Singer 

nized  him,  and  he  was  perfectly  confident 
that  she  blushed,  but  no  one  observing 
him  would  have  seen  in  his  manner  any 
thing  but  the  coldest  composure.  It  was, 
none  the  less,  a  very  sweet  consciousness 
to  sit  there  quietly,  close  by  her  side,  and 
he  half  fancied  it  was  also  pleasure  to 
her.  During  the  sermon  he  was  acutely 
aware  of  her,  and  of  every  slightest  move 
ment  that  she  had  made  in  shifting  her 
position,  or  moving  her  feet  upon  the  foot 
stool.  And  once,  only  once,  he  heard  her 
breathe  a  little  sigh,  the  sound  of  which 
stirred  him  to  tenderness. 

After  the  sermon  the  hymn  was  given 
out,  and  it  proved  to  be  the  one  that  had 
been  sung  on  the  occasion  of  his  first 
coming  here.  When  the  young  girl  rose 
with  the  open  book  in  her  hand,  she  ob 
served  that  he  had  no  book,  and  with  a 
movement  at  once  frank  and  timid  she 
offered  him  hers,  glancing  up  at  him  as  she 
did  so.  He  shook  his  head,  declining  to 
deprive  her  of  it,  but  at  the  same  time  he 
326 


The  Masked  Singer 

caught  hold  of  its  extreme  corner  nearest 
him  and  continued  to  hold  it  so,  until  she 
saw  his  meaning,  and  took  hold  of  the 
opposite  corner.  Then  in  a  carefully 
modulated  and  sympathetic  voice,  which 
had  great  sweetness  and  charm  without 
remarkable  power,  he  began  to  sing.  Ad 
miring  women  had  been  touched  by  his 
voice  before  to-day,  and  it  was  no  wonder 
if  it  touched  with  power  the  woman  stand 
ing  at  his  side.  He  hoped  it  did,  at  least, 
but  he  could  divine  nothing,  as  her  little 
shabby  thumb  supported  the  book  unwa 
veringly  until  the  hymn  was  ended. 

Walking  homeward  that  day,  Randall 
looked  his  present  condition  in  the  face 
more  boldly  and  honestly  than  he  had  ever 
done  before,  and  the  result  of  it  was  that 
he  owned  that  he  was  in  love. 

Having  made  this  acknowledgment  to 
himself,  that  he  was  really  in  love,  he 
faced  the  possible  consequences  squarely 
also,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  only  safety  was  in  flight.  As  for  mar- 
327 


The  Masked  Singer 

rying  a  street  singer,  whom  he  had  seen 
insulted  by  a  common  rough,  and  who  had 
a  voice  as  rasping  to  him  as  a  peacock's,  he 
might  be  more  or  less  of  a  fool  in  his  love 
of  having  his  own  way,  but  he  was  not 
such  a  fool  as  that ! 

The  contradicting  facts,  that  she  was  as 
beautiful  as  a  dream,  and  had,  as  he  be 
lieved,  a  nature  both  exalted  and  refined  — 
did  not  by  any  means  seem  to  him  a  suffi 
cient  compensation,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  go  abroad  for  several  months, 
and  to  come  back  with  this  little  episode 
quite  eradicated  from  his  mind. 

He  carried  out  his  plan  so  far  as  the 
trip  was  concerned,  and  even  as  to  its 
results  he  felt  that  he  had  been  fairly 
successful.  Certainly  the  absurdity  of 
having  fallen  in  love  with  a  street  singer 
with  an  abominable  voice  was  suffi 
ciently  clear  to  him,  and  change  of  scene 
and  absence  had  done  their  work  in  weak 
ening  the  spell  which  this  girl  had  laid 
upon  him.  In  spite  of  all  this,  however, 
328 


The  Masked  Singer 

he  was  not  sufficiently  self-secure  to  run 
any  risks.  He  would  not  have  dared  to  go 
to  church,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  look  out  for  new  lodgings  immediately, 
and  until  these  should  be  secured,  not  to 
go  to  the  front  windows. 

These  resolutions  he  religiously  kept. 
He  had  taken  no  vow,  however,  not  to 
look  toward  the  opposite  house  in  going 
up  and  down  the  street,  and  this  he  always 
did,  half  hoping  and  half  fearing  to  see 
that  lovely  vision  in  rose  color,  who  still 
remained  the  most  beautiful  picture  in  the 
world  to  his  mind.  He  never  caught  a 

O 

glimpse  of  her,  however,  and  so  far  had 
seen  and  heard  nothing  of  the  street  sing 
ers,  a  thing  which,  of  course,  might  be 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  cool 
weather  of  autumn  had  set  in,  and  there 
was  no  chance  of  drawing  a  crowd  in  the 
streets  to  listen  to  singing  of  that  sort. 

During  his  trip  abroad  Randall  had  given 
himself  a  perfect  feast  of  music.  Con 
vinced  more  strongly  than  ever  that 


The  Masked  Singer 

"  love's  young  dream  "  was  not  for  him, 
he  was  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the 
next  best  thing,  and  to  fill  his  soul  with 
music.  To  lose  the  opportunities  which 
Europe  offered  him  for  this  had  been  his 
greatest  regret  in  coming  home,  and  after 
indulgence  in  the  very  richest  forms  of 
musical  delight  he  felt  more  or  less  im 
patient  of  the  concerts  and  recitals  of 
which  he  read  in  the  columns  of  the  home 
newspapers. 

One  afternoon  at  his  club,  he  heard  some 
men  discussing  a  concert  which  was  to  take 
place  that  evening,  and  they  suggested  to 
him  to  go.  It  seemed  that  Mensenn,  a 
well-known  manager,  had  discovered  a 
wonderful  new  voice,  possessed  by  a  young 
girl  living  in  the  city.  Only  the  name  of 
Mensenn  would  have  drawn  Randall  into 
a  thing  like  this,  and  even  with  that  im 
portant  recommendation  of  the  new  singer 
he  felt  dubious  and  half-reluctant,  but  that 
evening,  having  nothing  better  to  do,  and 
having  within  him  a  great  thirst  for  music, 
330 


The  Masked  Singer 

he  went  to  the  great  concert  hall  to  see 
what  he  could  do,  to  satisfy  it. 

It  was  rather  a  surprise  to  him  that 
Mensenn  had  ventured  on  the  biggest  hall 
in  the  city  for  the  launching  of  this  debu 
tante  and  yet  he  reflected  that  Mensenn 
was  a  man  who  generally  knew  what  he 
was  about. 

Randall  was  a  somewhat  erratic  and 
unaccountable  fellow,  careful  and  econom 
ical  about  money  on  certain  lines,  and  reck 
lessly  prodigal  in  others.  Where  the  in 
dulgence  of  his  love  for  music  was  con 
cerned,  he  never  counted  it,  and  this  even 
ing,  after  reading  the  programme  and  see 
ing  several  favorites  among  the  selections, 
he  felt  inclined  to  do  his  very  utmost  to 
get  pleasure  out  of  this  concert  by  hear 
ing  it  under  the  best  conditions  that  he 
could  secure.  The  chief  of  these  was 
either  sympathetic  companionship,  or  soli 
tude,  and  as  he  could  not  command  the 
first,  he  would  the  latter,  so  he  got  a 
small  curtained  box  in  good  sight  and 
33i 


The  Masked  Singer 

sound  of  the  stage,  and  took  his  place  in 
it  alone. 

The  concert  opened  with  a  very  good 
performance  of  violin  and  violoncello,  with 
piano  accompaniment.  The  players  were 
not  great  artists,  but  Randall  got  enough 
out  of  it  to  stir  the  deep,  emotional  feelings 
within,  that  made  him  simply  yearn  and 
hunger  for  more  —  more  music  and 
sweeter,  more  life  and  fuller  !  The  next 
performance  was  to  introduce  the  new 
singer,  Miss  Bianca  May. 

He  sat  quite  screened  from  view  behind 
his  curtain,  and  waited  with  mingled  hope 
and  doubting  for  her  to  come  out.  And 
now  she  appeared,  Mensenn  leading  her. 
She  was  tall,  she  was  dressed  in  white, 
she  was  supremely  beautiful.  His  heart 
gave  a  great  leap;  the  blood  seemed  to  surge 
forward  in  his  veins,  and  then  to  rush  back 
in  a  way  that  gave  him  a  sense  of  suffoca 
tion.  She  was  walking  forward  with  a 
step  and  a  carriage  that  he  recognized. 
She  was  looking  around  the  house  with 
332 


The  Masked  Singer 

great,  pure,  innocent  and  timid  eyes  that 
he  had  looked  into  before  !  She  was  his 
opposite  neighbor — Tommy's  little  mis 
tress  ! 

Her  beauty  was  positively  enthralling, 
but  oh,  her  voice!  At  the  thought  of  that, 
he  turned  cold  with  dread,  and  then  hot 
with  angry  protest.  What  did  Mensenn 
mean  ?  How  could  he  let  her  adorn  her 
loveliness  like  this,  to  be  led  as  a  victim 
to  the  sacrifice  ?  He  knew  the  character 
of  the  audience  assembled,  and  he  knew 
that  they  were  not  people  to  be  inveigled 
into  the  toleration  of  such  a  voice  by  mere 
beauty.  The  very  fact  that  she  had  such 
a  beautiful  and  correct  method  would  make 
the  thing  all  the  more  an  insult  to  their  in 
telligence.  He  was  almost  beside  himself 
with  anger  and  mortification.  He  longed 
passionately  to  rush  upon  the  stage  and  drag 
her  away,  and  to  hide  her  beautiful,  uncon 
scious  face  against  his  heart,  before  she 
had  come  to  feel  the  contempt  and  indig 
nation  which  the  audience,  now  spell- 
333 


The  Masked  Singer 

bound  by  her  beauty,  would  very  soon  have 
ready  for  her. 

Across  the  wild  confusion  of  these 
frantic,  angry  thoughts  a  sound  fell,  a 
sound  so  sweet,  so  powerful,  so  exquisite, 
that  it  was  like  the  voice  of  peace,  speak 
ing  with  a  strong,  commanding  influence 
to  his  soul.  It  was  a  voice  that  satis 
fied,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the 
utmost  ideal  of  Randall's  soul  !  Not  only 
was  it  the  perfect  method  that  he  knew, 
but  the  voice,  itself,  was  so  gloriously 
exquisite,  so  fine,  so  clear,  so  passionately 
sweet,  that  his  soul  was  wrapt  in  ecstacy. 
It  was  almost  too  cruelly  sweet.  Randall 
shuddered,  and,  when  the  song  ended,  he 
dropped  his  face  in  his  hands  and  gave  a 
sort  of  sob. 

Then  there  came  from  the  audience  an 
absolute  storm  of  applause.  So  tem 
pestuous  and  excited  was  it,  that  the  girl 
was  evidently  divided  between  pleasure 
and  fright,  and  when  Mensenn  came  to 
her  and  led  her  from  the  stage,  she  was  so 
334 


The  Masked  Singer 

visibly  shaken  that  she  could  not,  at  once, 
respond  to  the  encore.  It  seemed  to 
Randall  cruel  —  it  made  him  madly  indig 
nant  that  they  should  make  this  demand 
upon  her,  and  while  the  clapping  and  call 
ing  was  at  its  height,  he  left  his  box,  and 
made  his  way  into  the  street. 

For  an  hour  or  more  he  walked  about 
trying  to  secure  some  degree  of  calmness, 
and  to  solve  this  inscrutable  mystery. 
What  was  the  secret  of  this  miraculous 
change  of  voice  ?  Had  it  all  been  a  clever 
imitation  of  inferiority  and  discordant 
sound  that  she  had  practiced  behind  her 
mask  ?  How  could  it  be  possible  to  so 
disguise  the  voice  of  a  lark  or  of  an 
angel  such  as  this  ?  And  what  could  have 
been  the  object  ?  Whatever  it  was,  the 
creature  who  had  long  ago  won  his  love, 
and  who  had  now  by  the  possession  of  this 
voice  deepened  that  love  to  adoration,  was 
the  woman  he  must  have  for  his  wife, 
if  work  of  man  and  prayers  to  heaven 
could  accomplish  it !  The  fact  that  she 

335 


The  Masked  Singer 

had  been  a  masked  street  singer,  the 
uncertain  quantity  of  her  relation  toward 
the  man  who  had  played  with  her  in  that 
character, —  all  these  things  vanished,  and 
Randall  was  possessed  by  the  headlong 
wish,  which  dominated  everything  else,  of 
getting  access  to  her  immediately,  and 
begging  her  to  become  his  wife. 

He  made  his  way  back  at  last  to  the 
concert  hall,  and  found  the  audience  just 
dispersing.  He  had  not  wished  to  hear 
her  sing  again  ;  he  felt  that  it  would  be 
more  than  he  could  bear,  but  he  had  a 
definite  purpose  in  view  as  he  made  his 
way  to  the  rear  of  the  stage.  Here  he 
met  several  men  whom  he  knew,  coming 
away. 

"  It 's  no  use,  my  boy  !  "  said  one  of 
these.  "  Old  Mensenn  is  immovable.  He 
not  only  will  not  introduce  us,  but  he 
refuses,  for  the  present,  to  answer  any 
questions.  Perhaps  he  's  wise,  for  after 
such  an  ovation  as  this,  if  she  showed  up, 
she  'd  run  the  risk  of  being  eaten  alive. 
336 


The  Masked  Singer 

o 

The  women  are  as  mad  over  her  as  the 
men."  Randall  hurried  on,  however,  and 
catching  sight  of  the  well-known  face  of 
old  Mensenn,  approached  him  with  a  cer 
tain  confidence.  The  man  had  known 
him  long,  and,  as  Randall  hoped,  in  a  way 
that  had  made  him  trust  him.  Every 
effort  which  he  made  was  perfectly  use 
less,  however.  It  was  evident  that  no 
exception  to  his  decision  was  to  be  made. 

Randall  was  turning  away  half-resent- 
fully  when  a  man,  small  and  unremark 
able  in  appearance,  came  from  a  long, 
dark  passage  and,  seeing  him,  stopped  a 
second,  and  then,  as  if  recognizing  him, 
approached  rapidly  and  said : 

"  You  do  not  know  me,  but  you  ren 
dered  me  and  mine  a  service  once,  which  I 
can  never  forget.  You  are  the  man  who 
punished  the  brute  who  offered  an  insult 
to  the  being  dearest  to  me  in  the  world. 
I  saw  you  from  behind  my  mask,  and  have 
often  wished  that  I  could  thank  you  prop 
erly  for  what  you  did.  Will  you  call  to 

337 


The  Masked  Singer 

see  me  to-morrow  afternoon  at  four,  and 
let  me  introduce  you  to  my  daughter  that 
she  may  thank  you,  too  ?  "  And  while 
Randall  stood  astonished  and  delighted,  the 
man  gave  the  address  of  the  house  oppo 
site  his  own,  and  then  walked  away. 

Randall,  on  his  way  home,  felt,  in  spite 
of  his  joy  at  this  stroke  of  fortune,  as  puz 
zled  and  confused  in  mind  as  ever.  It 
was  an  untold  relief  to  learn  that  the  man 
with  whom  the  woman  he  loved  had  sung 
in  the  public  streets  was  her  father,  but 
oh,  how  could  he  have  let  her  do  it  ? 
What  sort  of  a  father  could  he  be  ?  And 
yet  his  somewhat  pathetic  face  had  beamed 
with  tenderness  during  the  few  seconds 
in  which  he  had  spoken  to  him.  Well, 
one  great  burden  had  been  rolled  away 
from  his  heart  by  the  discovery  of  this 
relationship  between  the  street  singer  and 
her  companion;  another  had  gone  with 
the  discovery  that  that  awful  sound  of  dis 
cord  was  not  her  natural  voice;  and  the 
one  that  still  remained,  the  fact  that  she 
333 


The  Masked  Singer 

had  been  a  masked  street  singer,  lay  heavy 
on  his  heart  still,  but  contrasted  with  the 
love  he  had  for  this  woman,  that  burden 
he  was  more  than  ready  to  carry. 

The  next  afternoon  at  precisely  four,  he 
rang  at  the  door  of  the  opposite  house,  and 
asked  for  Mr.  May.  The  servant  led  him 
up  several  flights  of  stairs  to  the  very  top 
of  the  house,  and  then  along  a  dark  pas 
sage  leading  to  the  back  building,  and  here 
she  knocked  at  a  door,  and  then  turned 
and  left  him.  A  man's  voice  called  "  Come 
in!"  and  Randall  opened  the  door  and  saw 
his  new  acquaintance  sitting  at  a  table 
writing,  and  at  his  side  his  old  acquaintance 
seated  on  a  low  chair  engaged  in  stroking 
Tommy,  who  was  greatly  grown.  He 
did  not  see  the  kitten  at  first,  because  of 
the  fact  that  the  young  girl  was  dressed  in 
deep,  intense  black,  which  swathed  her  to 
her  throat  and  wrists.  It  made  the  bril 
liant  loveliness  of  her  face,  however,  all 
the  more  startling,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
still  holding  Tommy,  and  recognized  him 
339 


The  Masked  Singer 

D 

with  her  usual  tribute  of  a  rosy  blush. 
His  appearance  was  evidently  a  surprise 
to  her,  though  it  soon  became  evident 
that  her  father  had  prepared  her  for  the 
reception  of  a  stranger,  and  had  told  her  to 
what  cause  the  visit  was  due. 

The  father,  himself,  a  somewhat  feeble 
and  timid  man,  explained  that  they  were 
in  the  shadow  of  a  recent  bereavement, 
his  wife,  and  the  girl's  mother,  having  died 
only  a  month  or  so  ago.  He  alluded  to  it 
in  a  low  and  sorrowful  voice,  and  ended 
with  the  words  : 

"You  can  understand,  therefore,  all  the 
more,  why  I  should  have  wished  for  the 
opportunity  of  thanking  you  for  resenting 
the  affront  that  was  offered  to  her,  by  that 
brute,  when  she  was  exposing  herself,  for 
the  sake  of  our  child,  to  the  dangers  which 
such  a  position  made  inevitable.  It  was  all 
that  our  dear  daughter  might  be  nurtured 
in  refined  and  wholesome  conditions,  for 
the  preservation  of  her  health  and  her  inno 
cence,  and  the  development  of  her  voice, 
340 


The  Masked  Singer 

which  has  fulfilled,  at  last,  all  our  hopes 
concerning  it,  when  the  dear  mother,  who 
so  passionately  loved  her  has  passed  beyond 
the  knowledge  of  it." 

"  Do  n't  say  so,  Father,"  said  the  young 
girl,  gently.  "  I  felt  her  very  near  to  me, 
last  night.  It  was  that  thought  which  kept 
me  up  and  enabled  me  to  sing  my  best." 

As  she  spoke,  she  drew  a  little  nearer  to 
him,  and  putting  Tommy  on  the  floor,  she 
took  her  father's  hand  in  hers  and  held  it, 
while  he  talked  to  their  visitor,  and  told  his 
story,  in  a  simple,  frank,  unworldly  way 
that  very  soon  put  Randall  in  possession 
of  the  whole  situation.  It  was  made  very 
clear  to  him  that  the  mother  had  been  the 
master  spirit  of  this  trio,  and  that  this 
mild  and  ineffectual  little  man  was  very 
helpless  without  her.  His  lack  of  worldly 
prudence  showed  plainly  enough  in  the 
fact  that  he  took  this  stranger  so  fully  into 
his  confidence  on  the  sole  ground  that 
he  had  once  defended  his  dead  wife  from 
an  insult.  The  girl,  herself,  too,  seemed 


The  Masked  Singer 

to  find  nothing  strange  in  the  situation,  as 
she  sat  by  and  listened  to  her  father's 
recital  of  his  wife's  labor  of  love  and 
sacrifices. 

She  had  once  possessed  a  superb  voice, 
herself,  it  seemed,  and  had  received  the 
most  perfect  and  thorough  training  in  a 
great  European  conservatoire,  being  herself 
an  Italian,  but  before  she  had  sung  in 
public  at  all,  a  severe  attack  of  throat  trou 
ble  had  ruined  her  voice  forever,  and  she 
had  come  to  America  to  give  lessons,  and 
in  a  southern  town  had  met  and  married 
her  husband.  Then  had  begun  a  long  life 
of  vicissitudes  of  various  kinds,  culminat 
ing  in  the  street-singing  performances,  a 
necessity  to  which  they  had  been  reduced, 
at  last,  by  positive  want.  In  this  way  she 
had  eked  out  the  little  that  she  could  make 
by  taking  pupils  at  a  small  price,  and  by 
the  little  jobs  of  writing  and  bookkeeping 
which  the  man  himself  could  get,  until  the 
time  should  be  ripe  for  her  daughter's 
debut. 

342 


The  Masked  Singer 

All  this  was  told  to  Randall  with  the  ut 
most  simplicity,  and  Bianca,  herself,  sitting 
by,  seemed  pleased  that  he  should  know  it. 
When  at  last  he  rose  to  go,  it  was  like  the 
parting  of  friends,  and  he  asked  and  re 
ceived  permission  to  come  again.  He 
longed  almost  intolerably  to  ask  her  now, 
to-day,  to  be  his  wife,  and  he  chafed  under 
the  necessity  of  delay. 

And  the  delay,  in  point  of  fact,  was  not 
very  long.  When  hearts  are  young  and 
trusting,  why  should  it  be  ?  And  Bianca 
had  had  an  instinct  of  blind  trust  in  him 
from  the  first.  He  got  Mensenn  to  say  a 
good  word  for  him;  he  cultivated  the 
father  and  took  pains  to  make  him  ac 
quainted  with  the  details  of  his  life,  position 
and  circumstances;  and  then,  at  last,  he  felt 
that  he  had  only  Bianca's  consent  to  win. 

How  would  she  answer  him  ?  How 
did  she  feel  toward  him  ?  He  asked  him 
self  these  questions  with  agitated  hope  and 
fear.  Her  very  friendliness  and  frankness 
half  frightened  him  at  times. 
343 


The  Masked  Singer 

One  afternoon  when  he  went  to  call,  as 
he  did  almost  daily  now,  he  found  Bianca  in 
the  little  sitting-room  alone.  It  was  the  first 
time  it  had  happened  so,  and  she  explained 
her  father's  absence,  and  that  he  might  be 
in  at  any  moment.  The  situation  was  a 
little  constrained  for  her,  and  Randall  saw 
it,  and  to  reassure  her  he  asked  her  to  sing. 
She  had  done  this  frequently  before,  but 
always  with  her  father  to  play  her  accom 
paniments.  He  volunteered  to  do  this 
now,  himself,  and  sitting  down  to  the 
piano  he  struck  the  opening  chords  of  the 
song  he  had  first  heard  her  sing.  The 
song  which  had  been  the  consummation 
of  her  revelation  to  him.  She  began  to 
sing  it.  They  were  alone  together.  The 
song  was  more  than  speech.  He  turned 
his  head  and  looked  upward  at  her.  His 
look  agitated  her,  and  her  voice  faltered. 
At  this  he  smiled,  and  the  voice  grew  more 
unsteady.  Then  suddenly  he  stopped 
playing,  and  without  the  support  of  the 
accompaniment,  she  broke  down  utterly. 

344 


The  Masked  Singer 

But  the  hands  that  were  lifted  from  the 
keys  suddenly  took  both  of  hers  in  an  im 
perious  grasp.  The  gaze  that  she  tried 
desperately  to  avoid,  compelled  her  to 
look  at  him,  and  after  the  confession  of 
that  look  she  knew  no  more,  but  that  she 
was  in  his  arms,  and  was  glad  and  satisfied. 


345 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

All  things  considered,  it  was  not  strange 
that  Clement  Rhodes  should  have  looked 
back  upon  his  one  year  of  marriage  as  a 
mere  episode  in  his  experience.  His  had 
been  a  life  of  more  or  less  excited  and 
turbulent  episodes,  all  through,  and  perhaps 
that  one — his  marriage  with  an  ignorant 
and  pretty  school-girl  —  was  now  among 
the  vaguest  of  all  the  emotional  impres 
sions  which  were  stamped  upon  his  brain. 

He  had  been  nearer  to  fifty  than  forty, 
and  a  conventional  type  of  old  beau, 
when  he  had  chanced  to  be  thrown  famil 
iarly  into  the  society  of  this  young  girl. 
Young  girls  were  somewhat  rare  in  his 
experience,  for  the  reason  that  all  such 
who  had  any  one  to  look  out  for  them, 
were  protected  from  the  dangers  of  any- 
349 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

thing  more  than  a  very  casual  acquaint 
ance  with  him.  He  was  permitted  to  take 
them  in  to  dinner,  to  dance  with  them,  or 
to  pay  them  any  passing  attention  when 
they  were  fully  chaperoned,  but  there  the 
line  was  drawn. 

It  was  an  unusual  experience  for  him, 
therefore,  when,  during  a  visit  to  some 
friends  in  the  country,  he  found  himself 
frequently  tete-a-tete  with  a  girl  of  eigh 
teen,  who  had  as  little  idea  of  protecting 
herself  from  a  man  like  him,  as  her  hostess 
had  of  protecting  her.  The  fact  was  that 
this  hostess  had  frankly  declared  to  him 
her  wish  that  he  should  marry  this  girl, 
saying  that  she  was  both  too  poor  and  too 
pretty  to  look  out  for  herself. 

The  idea,  when  first  presented  to 
Rhodes,  seemed  absurd  in  the  extreme, 
for  he  was  poor  also,  and  lived  in  a  hand- 
to-mouth  fashion,  which  he  had  known 
better  than  to  ask  any  woman  to  share. 
He  had  never  entertained  the  possibility  of 
marrying  any  but  a  rich  woman,  and  now, 
350 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

as  he  had  grown  older,  and  his  shiftless 
habits  were  more  fixed  upon  him,  he  had 
begun  to  realize  that  his  chance  of  doing 
this  was  very  small.  The  idea  of  marrying 
a  penniless  girl,  however,  was  more  prepos 
terous  still,  and  it  was  therefore  a  great 
surprise  to  him  when  he  found  himself 
committed  to  this  marriage. 

It  had  come  about  simply  enough.  He 
was  a  thoroughly  initiated  old  flirt,  and 
when  he  had  tried  some  of  his  wiles  upon 
this  ingenue,  and  she  had  responded  by  an 
innocent  revelation  of  her  love  for  him, 
there  proved  to  be  one  note  in  him  suffi 
ciently  finely  attuned  to  compel  him  to  act 
honorably  by  this  young  girl  who  had 
trusted  him.  Without  stopping  to  con 
sider  how  it  would  hamper  him  for  the 
future,  he  married  her,  and  took  her  to  as 
comfortable  a  little  set  of  rooms  as  he 
could  manage  to  secure. 

He  was  in  love  with  her,  of  course. 
Falling  in  love  was  one  of  the  most  facile 
of  feats  to  Rhodes,  and  falling  out  was 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

about  as  easy.  Heretofore,  dancers  and 
comic-opera  singers  had  been  the  most 
frequent  objects  of  his  worn-out  affections, 
and  the  present  contrast  to  all  this  had 
undoubtedly  something  piquant  in  it. 

After  a  few  months,  however,  the  pro 
saic  demands  of  the  monotonous  home 
life  in  the  little  suburban  roost,  where  his 
friends  never  came,  grew  very  wear 
ing,  particularly  as  his  wife  was  delicate, 
and  indisposed  to  join  him  in  his  trips  to 
the  theatres  and  concert-halls,  which  had 
become  a  confirmed  habit  of  his  life.  She 
did  not  wish  to  confine  him  at  home,  how 
ever,  and  she  insisted  that  he  should  go 
without  her,  so  that  gradually  he  found 
himself  slipping  back  into  his  bachelor 
ways. 

It  was  very  welcome  to  Rhodes  about 
this  time  to  have  any  means  of  drowning 
care,  for  he  was  badgered  about  debts  and 
expenses,  finding  it  more  than  he  could  do 
to  keep  going  even  that  poor  establishment. 
He  had  a  desultory  occupation  as  an  insur- 
352 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

ance  agent,  by  which  he  picked  up  a  little 
money  now  and  then  ;  but  younger  and 
more  industrious  men  were  fast  pushing 
him  aside,  and  his  income  diminished  as 
his  expenses  increased. 

It  was,  therefore,  even  to  his  conscious 
ness,  just  as  well  that  his  young  wife  died. 
It  would  perhaps  have  been  better  if  the 
baby  had  died  with  her,  and  he  could  so 
have  buried  out  of  sight  all  reminder  of 
that  strange  and  incongruous  episode  in  his 
life. 

But  the  baby,  a  tiny  girl,  did  not 
die.  She  struggled  through  teething,  and 
whooping  cough,  and  measles,  and  many 
other  such  attacks,  in  the  midst  of  neglect, 
cold,  heat,  hunger,  and  pain,  and  lived  on, 
growing  into  an  almost  preternaturally 
serious,  wise,  and  thoughtful  child. 

There  is  a  theory  of  which  this  father 
and  child  might  be  taken  as  striking  exam 
ples.  It  is  to  the  effect  that  every  created 
soul  has  the  same  period  of  human  life  to 
compass,  and  that  it  exists,  in  successive 
353 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

human  incarnations,  until  that  period  is 
accomplished.  Sometimes,  but  an  hour  or 
a  minute  may  be  needed  to  make  up  the 
exact  sum,  but  the  re-incarnation  must  nec 
essarily  be,  even  if  for  no  longer  a  time 
than  that.  This  theory,  we  are  told, 
accounts  for  the  phenomena  of  youth  in 
age,  and  age  in  youth,  which  we  so  often 
see;  in  other  words,  it  explains  why  a  very 
aged  person  is  often  silly  and  childish,  and 
a  young  child  wise  and  matured  in  mind. 
When  this  occurs  (so  the  theory  goes)  the 
old  person  is  in  his  or  her  first  incarnation 
—  is,  in  fact,  a  young  soul  —  while  the 
child  may  be  in  his  or  her  last  incarnation, 
an  old  soul  almost  ready  to  be  liberated 
from  humanity  and  admitted  to  the  higher 
life. 

Whether  there  be  truth  in  this  theory, 
or  not,  certain  it  is  that  Clem  Rhodes  had 
the  attributes  of  a  young  soul,  ignorant  in 
mind  and  shallow  in  feeling,  while  his 
little  daughter  (whom  her  fond  mother  had 
named  Clementina)  had  the  mental  force 
354 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

and  depth  of  feeling  which  might  well  seem 
to  belong  to  an  old  soul. 

The  strangest  part  of  it  was  the  way  in 
which  they  both  seemed  to  realize  the 
truth  about  themselves.  Although  Clem 
entina  was  now  but  six  years  old,  and  her 
father  was  well  over  fifty,  there  could  be 
no  question  as  to  which  of  them  was  the 
guiding,  ruling,  dominating  spirit.  Her 
mind  was  as  marked  for  its  orderliness  as 
her  father's  was  for  the  absence  of  that 
trait.  Quite  from  within,  she  had  evolved 
a  sentiment  of  horror  for  debt  and  loose 
dealing  of  every  kind,  and  she  would  sit  in 
judgment  on  her  father  for  such  practices 
in  a  way,  which,  however  strange,  he  never 
thought  of  resenting.  In  some  way  never 
fully  accounted  for,  she  had  formed  the 
habit  of  calling  him  "  Clem,"  or  "  Boy," 
instead  of  "  Papa." 

Clementina  was   by  no  means  beautiful 

—  a  small,  thin,  pale  child,  with  enormous 

dark  eyes,  which  were   so  thoughtful  and 

steady  in   their  expression  that  most  peo- 

355 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

pie  who  looked  at  her,  ever  so  casually, 
found  their  attention  caught  and  fixed, 
and  an  impression  of  wonder  conveyed  to 
them. 

The  child's  life  was  almost  absolutely 
lonely,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
found  out  and  entered  herself  as  a  pupil  at 
a  small  free  school  in  the  neighborhood ; 
for  she  kept  apart  from  every  one;  and 
although  she  made  extraordinary  progress 
in  her  lessons,  she  made  no  friends.  It 
was  her  father's  habit  to  be  absent  all  day, 
so  she  prepared  her  little  mid-day  meal,  and 
partook  of  it  alone. 

By  this  time  Rhodes's  flagging  energies 
and  accumulating  years  had  reduced  him 
to  such  poverty,  that  his  former  rather 
comfortable  set  of  rooms  was  now  dimin 
ished  to  one,  and  in  this  he  and  the  child 
slept,  cooked,  ate  their  meals,  and  lived. 
They  had  two  folding-beds,  which  were 
closed  up  in  the  daytime,  and  a  folding- 
table,  which  was  then  opened.  At  night, 
the  beds  were  lowered  into  the  central 
356 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

space  of  the  room,  and  the  table  folded 
back  against  the  wall. 

Rhodes  always  took  his  breakfast  and 
late  dinner  with  the  child,  these  meals 
being  cooked  and  served  by  her  with  very 
little  help  from  him.  She  also  did  the 
marketing,  and  kept  the  accounts,  setting 
down  all  her  figures  neatly  and  accurately, 
but  getting  his  help  in  adding  up  the 
columns. 

The  father,  of  course,  had  a  life  of  his 
own,  which  was  as  apart  from  that  of  the 
child,  as  her  long,  lonely  hours  were  apart 
from  his.  He  had  dropped  out  of  society, 
almost  entirely, and  he  frequented  the  thea 
tres  more  than  ever.  Occasionally,  he  took 
the  child  with  him;  but  although  she  never 
so  far  relaxed  her  dignity  as  to  fall  asleep, 
she  seemed  to  get  but  little  pleasure  out  of 
it,  and  her  solemn  air  and  deeply  thought 
ful  expression  so  grated  on  him,  that  he 
was  glad  that  she  did  not  oftener  express 
a  wish  to  go. 

Clementina    was    a    strangely    wakeful 

357 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

child,  and  he  had  never  yet  been  able  to 
steal  into  the  room,  no  matter  at  what 
hour  of  the  night,  or  with  what  degree  of 
stealth,  that  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"  That  you,  Boy  ?  "  she  would  say,  her 
voice  sounding  strangely  conscious  in  the 
stillness  and  darkness.  Then,  invariably, 
she  would  sit  up  in  her  little  bed,  and 
strike  a  match  and  light  the  candle  placed 
beside  her.  Then,  when  at  her  command 
he  would  come  to  kiss  her  good-night,  she 
would  give  him  that  swift,  searching  look, 
which  he  always  knew  was  coming,  and 
then,  if  satisfied,  she  would  lie  down  and 
go  quietly  to  sleep. 

As  a  general  thing,  it  happened  that  she 
was  satisfied,  but  there  had  been  times 
when  it  was  otherwise,  and  those  occasions 
Rhodes  remembered  with  such  distinct  un 
pleasantness,  that  they  served  him  as  valu 
able  warnings.  She  had  never  uttered 
any  rebuke  in  words,  but  the  deep,  pen 
etrating  condemnation  of  her  concentrated 
gaze  had  made  him  feel,  that  for  that 
358 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

moment  his  life  was  turned  inside  out  to 
her,  and  that  she  saw  him  as  he  was. 

This  was  all  the  more  painful  to  him, 
because  of  the  fact  that  the  child  seemed 
to  be  possessed  of  an  inherent  respect  for 
him.  She  advised,  and  even  censured  him 
at  times,  it  is  true,  but  always  Rhodes  had 
a  sense  of  being  deferred  to,  and  it  was  a 
grateful  feeling  to  the  heart  of  such  a  poor 
devil  as  he. 

Clementina  never  complained  of  soli 
tude,  and,  as  a  rule,  she  seemed  to  prefer 
these  lonely  evenings,  spent  in  studying 
her  lessons,  tidying  things  up,  sewing  on 
buttons,  cleaning  spots  from  her  father's 
clothes,  and  doing  odd  jobs  of  mending,  to 
the  alternative  of  going  to  the  theatre. 
Occasionally,  however,  she  would  an 
nounce  that  she  was  going  with  him,  and 
at  such  times  he  never  objected. 

Rhodes   had   now   been    a  widower  for 

more  than   six  years,  and  these  years  had 

been  a  tolerably  fair  copy  of  his  bachelor 

days,  except   that  he    now  made    his  life 

359 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

among  people  of  a  somewhat  lower  grade 
than  formerly;  for  they  were  almost  exclu 
sively  third-rate  actresses,  dancers,  concert- 
singers,  etc.  It  was  a  life  through  which 
he  would  quickly  have  sunk  very  low, 
but  for  one  thing  —  the  influence  of 
Clementina.  She  never  preached  good 
ness  to  him,  nor  talked  religion  (poor 
child,  she  had  been  taught  little  enough  of 
either!),  and  yet  she  continually  held  him 
up  to  his  better  self,  and  dragged  him 
back  to  it  when  he  fell  away. 

About  this  time  there  appeared  a  cel 
ebrated  dancer,  whose  services  were  en 
gaged  for  the  entire  season  at  the  Summer- 
Garden  concerts,  and  poor  old  Clem,  for 
the  fortieth  time,  imagined  that  the  grange 
passion  of  his  life  had  come  upon  him. 

Mademoiselle  Xarara  was  not  so  far 
removed  from  first  youth  as  he,  but 
still  she  was  by  no  means  young.  Her 
matured  charms,  however,  were  positively 
deadly  to  the  troops  of  boys  who  attended 
these  concerts,  and  she  soon  found  herself 
360 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

not  only  a  financial,  but  a  popular  success. 
She  was  fond  of  boys,  and  her  intercourse 
with  them  was  far  less  harmful  to  them 
than  it  might  have  been.  She  had  a  great 
deal  of  rollicking  fun  in  her,  and  she  could 
always  sing  better  and  kick  higher,  when 
she  was  spurred  on  by  the  enthusiastic 
clapping  and  shouting  of  her  young  ad 
mirers.  With  the  single  exception  of 
Rhodes,  they  were  all  many  years  her 
junior. 

And  if  she  was  fond  of  the  boys,  she 
was  also  fond  of  Rhodes,  for  the  very  rea 
son  that  he  was  a  foil  for  them.  Life  was 
behind  him,  as  it  was  behind  her,  and  she 
often  found  his  point  of  view  congenial, 
after  too  much  of  the  boyish  element. 

So  Rhodes  was  admitted  to  the  privilege 
of  visiting  her  at  her  own  rooms,  which 
the  boys  were  not,  and  his  battered  old 
heart  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 

The  people  whom  he  met  at  the  Tarara's 
rooms  were  of  a  sort  with  herself,  and  all  of 
them  were  so  easy-going  and  inconsequent, 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

that  it  was  a  pleasant  reaction  from  the 
rather  constraining  ideal  held  up  to  him 
by  his  child. 

Poor  old  Clem  !  He  had  been  a  dreamer 
all  his  life — of  the  earth,  earthy,  though 
his  dreams  had  been  —  and  shifting  and 
unstable  as  they  were  in  character.  The 
favor  which  the  Tarara  showed  him  now 
had  led  him  into  dreams  of  a  marriage  with 
her,  which  would  establish  him  for  life  in 
the  green-room  and  lime-light  atmosphere 
which  he  loved,  and  would  give  him,  not 
only  the  Tarara  herself,  with  whom  he  be 
lieved  he  was  madly  in  love,  but  also  all 
the  other  things  which  he  desired  in  life. 
In  the  pursuance  of  these  hopes,  he  had 
resolutely  concealed  from  her  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  fact  that  he  had  a  child,  believ 
ing  that  it  would  be  quite  fatal  to  his 
cause. 

In  the  evenings,  when  work  was  over, 
and  the  tiny  room  in  perfect  order,  Clem 
entina  would  sit  alone  and  think.  Of 
what  did  she  think  there  in  her  little 
362 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

chair,  so  neat  and  self-collected,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  space,  or  else  occasionally 
turned  upward  to  the  stars,  of  which  she 
could  see  a  small  bright  patch  out  of 
her  little  window  ?  Her  experience  in 
this  human  existence  had  been  so  meagre, 
the  avenues  of  knowledge  so  limited,  that 
it  would  almost  seem  reasonable  to  sup 
pose  that  she  drew  upon  former  experi 
ences  in  some  other  incarnation,  for  the 
material  of  that  deep  thinking  and  wise 
doing,  which  continually  occupied  her. 

One  evening,  it  happened  that  Clem 
became  conscious  of  an  unusually  pene 
trating  and  scrutinizing  look  fixed  upon 
him  by  this  austere  child  of  his,  and  he 
imagined  that  it  was  in  some  occult  way 
the  result  of  that  investigation,  which 
caused  her  to  announce,  suddenly, 

"  I  'm  going  with  you  this  evening, 
Clem." 

u  Where  ?  "   he  said,  surprised. 

"  Wherever  you  are  going." 

u  I  'm  going  to  the  concert,"  he  said;  and 
363 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

then  added,  dissuadingly,  "  You  would  n't 
like  it." 

"  But  I  'm  going,"  she  answered,  putting 
away  her  dusting-cloth,  after  having  made 
the  room  as  neat  as  usual. 

He  felt  a  certain  protest  and  anxiety, 
but  he  never  resisted  her,  and  so  a  little 
later  they  were  taking  their  places  in  front 
of  the  lowered  curtain.  The  prices  at 
these  concerts  were  very  small,  and  there 
was  always  a  good  attendance,  but  the 
child  and  her  father  being  early,  had  se 
cured  good  seats. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Clem  was  feeling 
rather  uncomfortable  this  evening.  He 
was  not  so  free  to  indulge  his  admiration 
for  the  inimitable  Tarara  with  this  dis 
cordant  element  beside  him  —  and  what 
if  his  secret  should  be  discovered  ?  He 
had,  moreover,  the  strongest  feeling  that 
Clementina's  eyes  invariably  saw  through 
the  surface  of  things  into  their  souls.  He 
was  afraid  for  her  to  see  the  Tarara,  and 
still  more  afraid  for  the  Tarara  to  see  her, 
364. 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

though,  of  course,  if  this  should  happen, 
he  need  not  own  the  relationship  between 
them. 

Clem  now  felt  a  shrinking  from  the 
thought  of  Clementina's  comments  on  the 
Tarara,  and  he  did  n't  like  the  idea  of 
the  dancer  appearing  before  the  child  in 
her  tinsel  and  tights.  She  always  came 
out  arrayed  thus  for  at  least  one  dance, 
though  she  generally  changed  her  costume 
several  times  during  the  evening. 

As  Rhodes  took  a  furtive  look  at  the 
figure  beside  him,  his  sense  of  discomfiture 
increased. 

She  was  startlingly  pale,  and  so  slim  and 
delicate,  that  he  was  not  surprised  that  the 
people  about  them  looked  at  her  with  a 
certain  pity,  of  which,  it  was  evident,  she 
took  no  account.  Her  odd  garments  and 
queer  hat  also  marked  her  out  for  special 
notice ;  and  when,  taken  in  connection 
with  all  the  rest,  one  noted  the  strange 
penetrating  gaze  of  her  immense  dark 
eyes,  it  was  not  surprising,  perhaps,  that 
365 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

Rhodes  felt  uncomfortable  and  half  irri 
tated  at  the  position  in  which  he  found 
himself. 

That  fixed,  absorbed  look  on  the  child's 
face  did  not  change  when  the  performance 
began.  It  was  a  merry  chorus  which 
made  the  audience  laugh  and  beat  time, 
but  Clementina  was  unmoved.  Then  two 
men  came  out  and  danced  a  clog-dance, 
during  which  her  look  remained  the  same 
—  as  if,  somehow,  she  saw  through  and 
beyond  it  all. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  distinct  appre 
hension  that  Rhodes  now  saw  Mademoi 
selle  Tarara  make  her  appearance.  She 
was  dressed  in  an  Italian  peasant  costume, 
but  the  skirts  were  shorter  and  the  bodice 
lower  than  necessity  required.  He  looked 
at  the  child  to  see  if  her  countenance  ex 
pressed  any  disapproval.  To  his  great  sur 
prise,  he  saw  that  the  little  pale  face  had 
softened  into  a  look  of  pleasure,  as  if  she 
recognized  something  that  she  liked. 

The  Tarara,  meanwhile,  was  posed,  with 
366 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

her  hands  on  her  hips,  waiting  for  her  cue 
from  the  orchestra. 

As  she  stood  thus,  she  looked  around  the 
house  with  an  expression  of  friendly  good 
will  on  her  face — the  true  index  of  a 
quality  in  her  which  accounted  largely  for 
her  popularity.  Then  she  began  to  sing. 

It  was  a  ballad  of  the  "  homely  pathetic  " 
order,  such  as  never  fails  to  go  to  the 
hearts  of  an  audience,  with  its  allusions  to 
mother,  wife,  child,  home,  etc.,  and  the 
Tarara  sang  it  with  great  feeling. 

Rhodes,  watching  that  strange  child  of 
his,  whom  he  always  felt  to  be  a  mystery 
beyond  his  ken,  saw  now  a  look  of  deep 
content  and  pleasure  settle  on  her  face,  and 
some  very  rare  tear-drops  rise  to  her  eyes. 

When  the  song  had  ended,  she  turned 
to  him  and  said,  abruptly: 

"I  love  that  lady." 

A  strange  sense  of  joy  throbbed  through 
the  man's  heart  at  these  words.  They 
were  something  more  than  a  surprise. 

"  She  is  good  and  kind,"  said  Clemen- 
367 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

tina,  with  the  same  tone  of  conviction. 
"  I  wish  she  would  come  back." 

Rhodes,  for  his  part,  rather  dreaded  that 
return,  for  fear  the  sweet  impression  might 
be  destroyed.  But  when  she  afterward 
appeared  as  a  smart  hussar,  and  sang  a  bar 
rack  song,  and  then  as  a  vivandifre  and 
gurgled  her  song  from  over  a  tin  canteen, 
the  impression  which  she  had  made  upon 
the  child  was  evidently  not  disturbed. 

It  was  noticeable,  however,  that  the 
Tarara  was  the  only  one  of  the  performers 
who  had  found  favor  with  Clementina. 
The  others  either  bored  her,  or  roused  a 
feeling  of  disapproval,  which  that  strong 
little  face  well  knew  how  to  express. 

The  last  appearance  of  the  Tarara  was 
in  a  ballet  costume,  and  as  she  floated  out 
on  the  stage  and  pirouetted  up  to  the  foot 
lights,  Rhodes  glanced  with  real  timidity  at 
the  child.  He  dreaded  the  effect  of  the 
bare  limbs  and  painted  face  upon  this 
austere  judge.  But  Clementina's  eyes 
were  fixed  with  a  look  of  unmixed  pleas- 
368 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

ure  upon  the  dancer,  who,  as  Clem  now 
saw  to  his  amazement,  caught  and  returned 
her  gaze. 

It  was  for  a  second  only,  but  there  could 
be  no  doubt  of  it,  and  the  child  saw  it,  also, 
for  she  flushed  with  happiness  and  said, 
under  her  breath: 

"  Oh,  the  sweet  lady  !  " 

With  the  same  look  of  confidence  and 
content,  she  followed  every  movement  un 
til  the  dance  was  ended. 

The  Tarara,  after  that  one  glance,  did 
not  again  look  at  the  child,  but  as  she 
skimmed  and  bounded  about  the  stage, 
going  through  all  the  peculiarly  imbecile 
motions  of  the  modern  ballet  dance,  as  she 
toyed  with  her  tarletan  skirts  and  sidled 
diagonally  on  her  poor  blunted  toes,  threw 
her  body  backward  and  waved  her  arms, 
then  smirked  and  grimaced  at  the  applause 
that  burst  from  the  house,  the  child's  gaze 
grew  more  and  more  delighted,  until  it 
deepened  into  a  look  of  burning  love. 

This  gaze,  also,  the  dancer  caught  as  she 
369 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

was  leaving  the  stage,  and  she  not  only 
caught,  but  returned  it.  Rhodes  began  to 
feel  deeply  alarmed  for  his  secret,  but  the 
reflection,  that  she  could  not  possibly  know 
that  the  child  was  his,  partly  reassured 
him. 

The  Tarara  vanished  in  a  storm  of  ap 
plause.  She  had  outdone  herself  to-night, 
and  the  audience  sent  up  a  vociferous 
encore. 

"  Oh,  is  she  coming  back  ?  Is  she 
coming  back  ?  "  asked  Clementina,  breath 
lessly. 

Her  father,  greatly  wondering,  assured 
her  that  the  dancer  would  return. 

But  as  the  applause  rose,  subsided,  then 
swelled  again,  and  no  Tarara  appeared,  he 
found  that  he  had  spoken  too  quickly.  It 
became  evident  that  the  favorite  refused 
to  respond  to  the  encore,  and  now,  as  four 
couples  in  the  costumes  of  Bowery  toughs 
swaggered  out  on  the  stage,  the  house  grew 
quiet  and  turned  its  attention  to  the  new 
performance. 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

But  Clementina  would  not  look  at 
them.  Instead,  she  turned  to  her  father 
and  said,  in  a  voice  of  emphatic  command  : 

"  Take  me  to  see  that  lady." 

Rhodes  was  accustomed  to  obey  the 
mandates  of  this  imperious  child,  but  for 
once  he  resisted  her. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said.  "  She  is  in  her 
room.  She  is  tired.  People  are  not 
allowed  to  go  to  her  private  room." 

"But  I  am  going,"  said  Clementina, in  a 
tone  in  which,  in  all  his  experience,  he  had 
never  known  her  to  utter  a  fiat  that  was 
unfulfilled.  As  she  spoke  she  rose  from 
her  place  and  took  her  father's  hand, 
urging  him  insistently  to  go.  Seeing  that 
they  were  being  observed  by  those  about 
them,  Rhodes  yielded  unwillingly,  and 
when  they  were  without  in  the  vestibule 
of  the  theatre,  she  spoke  again,  in  the 
same  tone  : 

"  1  am  going  to  see  that  lady,"  she  said. 
"  If  you  do  not  take  me,  I  will  go  without 
you." 

37* 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

He  was  so  accustomed  to  seeing  her 
perform  resolutely  whatever  she  under 
took —  this  strange,  determined  child  of 
his — that  he  felt  that  he  could  not  thwart 
her  will,  and  so  he  began,  in  a  helpless, 
entreating  fashion,  to  try  to  alter  it. 

"  Oh,  Clementina,  please  do  n't  go!"  he 
said.  "Come  home  with  me  —  please  do! 
I  '11  do  anything  you  want  if  you  '11  only 
come  home  with  me  now." 

"  Not  until  I  have  seen  that  lady,"  said 
the  child,  an  expression  of  indomitable 
purpose  making  her  little  face  look  strangely 
old. 

Poor  Clem  was  almost  in  tears.  He 
felt  that  he  had  not  the  power  to  resist 
her,  and  he  felt,  at  the  same  time,  that  if 
she  carried  her  point  his  case  was  lost 
with  the  Tarara.  He  had  hoped  to  win 
her  consent  to  marry  him,  and  he  had 
meant  to  conceal  the  child's  existence 
until  the  marriage  should  be  over,  and  then 
to  confess  it,  throwing  himself  upon  her 
mercy,  and  offering  to  put  the  child  in 
372 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

some  school  or  asylum  where  she  should 
be  kindly  treated  and  yet  be  out  of  the 
way. 

But  if  Clementina  persisted,  now,  all 
would  be  lost.  He  resolved  upon  a  sub 
terfuge  and  a  lie.  The  child's  purpose 
must  be  frustrated  at  all  costs. 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me  now,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  take  you  to  see  her  to-morrow. 
Come,  Clementina,  please." 

"  To-morrow  will  not  do,"  the  child 
began,  in  that  same  tone  of  resolution, 
but  at  this  instant  a  boy  came  up  to  them, 
and  delivered  a  message  to  Clem.  This 
message  was  a  summons  to  him  to  come 
at  once  to  the  Tarara's  room,  and  to  bring 
the  child. 

With  a  last  effort  at  resistance  he  was 
beginning  to  frame  an  excuse,  when,  in 
the  very  midst  of  his  speech,  Clementina 
said,  decisively,  speaking  to  the  boy : 

"  I  am  coming.  Show  me  the  way," 
and  the  poor  old  father  was  scarcely  sur 
prised  when  he  found  the  messenger  ig- 
373 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

noring  him  entirely,  and  obeying  the  words 
of  the  child. 

She  had  already  started  after  him,  and 
Clem  could  only  follow  them,  in  feeble 
wretchedness  and  disappointment. 

The  boy  led  the  way  through  various 
dusty  and  dimly-lighted  passages,  and  pres 
ently  paused  before  a  door  at  which  he 
rapped  sharply,  and  then  walked  away. 

A  voice  said  :  "  Come  in  ! " 

Clementina  turned  the  knob,  and  en 
tered,  her  father  following,  and  taking 
care  to  close  the  door  behind  him. 

Instead  of  finding  the  popular  dancer 
flung  in  picturesque  abandonment  on  the 
lounge,  drinking  iced  champagne  or  smok 
ing  a  cigarette  (which  was  what  Rhodes 
expected)  he  saw  her  seated  before  her 
dressing-table,  on  which  were  scattered  a 
disorderly  collection  of  wigs,  masks,  powder- 
puffs,  curling-irons,  rouge-pots,  and  various 
other  paraphernalia  of  her  profession.  Her 
elbows  were  crushing  some  artificial  flow 
ers,  as  she  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hands 

374 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

and  her  gaze  fixed  solemnly  upon  her  own 
reflection  in  the  mirror. 

As  she  turned  toward  them,  the  child 
ran  forward  and  flung  her  arms  around 
the  dancer's  bare  neck,  lifting  her  face  to 
be  kissed. 

The  Tarara  gave  a  little  cry,  and  sprang 
to  her  feet,  and  then,  the  next  instant, 
crouched  down  again,  and  made  a  motion 
as  if  she  would  cover,  with  her  short  tar- 
letan  skirts,  the  exposure  of  plump  legs 
cased  in  thin  flesh-colored  tights.  What 
had  come  over  her  ?  Those  shapely  limbs 
were  usually  her  pride.  When  had  she  felt 
any  sense  of  modesty  about  them  before? 

But  the  child  was  not  looking  at  them. 
Neither  did  she  look  at  the  false  hair,  the 
rouge,  the  powder,  the  painted  eyebrows, 
and  blstr^  lids.  She  had  clasped  her  arms 
around  the  dancer's  neck  again,  and  was 
looking  straight  into  her  eyes. 

The  feeling  which  came  to  the  Tarara 
as  she  met  that  look  was  that  one  creature 
saw  her  soul,  at  last. 
375 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

"  I  love  you.  You  are  kind,  and  sweet, 
and  good,"  the  child  said,  softly,  still  re 
garding  her  with  that  deep,  penetrating  gaze, 
and  with  intense  conviction  in  her  tone. 

The  Tarara's  painted  face  began  to 
quiver,  and  great  tear-drops  brimmed  her 
eyes,  as  she  caught  the  little  creature  to 
her,  crushing  to  irremediable  flatness  her 
diaphanous  tarletan  skirts.  She  strained 
the  small  creature  to  her  breast  a  moment, 
and  then  seated  her  on  her  lap.  She  had 
caught  up  a  rich  plush  cape  from  a  chair, 
and  had  thrown  it  over  the  tights  and  danc 
ing-shoes. 

Rhodes,  meanwhile,  stood  looking  on, 
in  a  state  of  stupefaction.  They  had 
both  forgotten  him,  as  they  clung  to  each 
other,  with  close  kisses  and  embraces. 

A  deep  emotion  was  evident  in  both  of 
them,  but  its  character  was  different.  The 
woman  was  stirred  to  a  passionate  excite 
ment  ;  her  breaths  came  in  deep,  catching 
sobs;  her  face  worked  with  a  nervous 
strain;  and  her  cheeks  flushed  hotly  under 
376 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

their  rouge.  The  child,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  deeply  calm  and  grave.  She 
lay  with  utter  contentment  in  that  bediz 
ened  creature's  arms,  and  looked  up  at  her 
as  trustingly  and  unquestioningly  as 
though  she  had  been  a  Madonna.  This 
long,  deep,  concentrated  look  was  undis 
turbed,  as  she  said  with  a  wondering 
seriousness: 

"  Are  you  my  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  darling,  no,"  the  dancer  said, 
bending  above  her  with  a  mother's  tender 
ness,  while  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks, 
making  a  pitiable  daub  of  black  and  white 
and  red  there. 

"  My  mother  died,"  the  child  went  on, 
looking  only  at  the  gentle  eyes  of  the 
woman,  and  speaking  in  a  grave  and  placid 
tone. 

u  And  my  little  baby  died,"  the  dancer 
said.  "  She  would  have  been  as  old  as 
you.  She  died  before  she  ever  knew  her 
mother's  face,  and  my  heart  has  been 
empty,  ever  since." 

377 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

"  I  love  you,"  said  the  child. 

The  strong,  spasmodic  movement  with 
which  the  dancer  crushed  her  to  her  heart, 
as  she  said  these  words,  must  have  been 
physically  painful,  but  if  it  was,  the  child 
gave  no  sign,  except  a  radiant  smile  of  joy. 
There  was  a  look  of  almost  holy  calm 
upon  the  little  pallid  face.  She  put  up 
one  small  hand,  and  patted  lovingly  the 
smeared  face  that  bent  above  her. 

"  You  are  good,"  she  said. 

"Am  I,  darling  ?  Oh,  I  should  like  to 
be!  If  my  little  baby  had  lived  perhaps 
I  should  have  been,  though  everybody  has 
been  bad  to  me.  No  one  has  ever  loved 
me,  as  you  do,  before." 

"  Your  little  child  loves  you,"  was  the 
quiet  answer,  still  with  that  look  and  tone 
of  knowledge. 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  she  does,  and  that 
I  will  some  time  have  her  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  with  a  certainty 
that  seemed  to  make  doubt  unreasonable. 
Then  looking  around,  as  if  in  sudden 
378 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

recollection,  she  said,  "Clem  —  Boy  — 
come  here." 

At  these  words  a  lingering  hope  sprang 
up  in  Rhodes's  heart.  This  strange  mode 
of  addressing  him  might  enable  him  to 
keep  his  secret  still.  If  he  could  only  get 
the  child  away  now,  and  to-morrow 
contrive  some  way  of  accounting  for  her! 
With  this  end  in  view  he  came  forward, 
the  child  turning  on  him,  as  he  did  so, 
the  fond,  penetrating  look  he  knew  so 
well. 

The  dancer  glanced  quickly  from  one 
to  the  other,  but  it  was  the  child  she  ques 
tioned,  and  not  the  man. 

"  Is  he  your  father  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Clementina.  "  My  mother 
died  when  I  was  very  little.  He  has  been 
so  good  to  me." 

But  what  was  the  matter  with  Clemen 
tina's  voice,  and  why  was  her  breath  sud 
denly  so  short  and  difficult  ?  Rhodes  was 
conscious  of  this,  even  in  that  moment 
when  he  realized  that  his  secret  was 
379 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

revealed,  and  his  hopes  of  the  Tarara 
blasted.  She  was  conscious  of  it,  too, 
and  her  face  took  on  a  sudden  look  of 
terror. 

Rhodes  dropped  upon  his  knees  beside 
the  two,  who  still  clung  to  one  another  in 
that  close  embrace.  Over  the  child's 
drooped  head  the  man  and  the  woman  ex 
changed  a  quick,  scared  look.  Then  both 
looked  at  the  child. 

The  gaze  that  answered  their  excited 
ones  was  so  calm,  so  strong,  so  full  of 
knowledge  and  assured  content,  that  out 
wardly,  at  least,  they  were  quieted.  One 
thin,  little  arm  lay  still  around  the  dancer's 
neck,  and  with  evident  effort  she  lifted  the 
other  and  laid  it  around  the  neck  of  her 
frightened,  childish  old  father. 

Almost  instantly  it  fell  back  heavily. 
There  was  a  little  twitch  of  the  thin  body, 
a  stifled  breath,  one  more  sweet  glance 
of  love,  and  the  child  lay  dead  between 
them. 


380 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

In  a  moment  all  was  excitement  and 
confusion.  The  alarm  was  given.  People 
thronged  the  room.  Doctors  were  sum 
moned,  but  one  look  assured  them  that  all 
was  over  with  the  child. 

The  Tarara,  with  trembling  limbs  and 
chattering  teeth,  threw  on  some  clothes 
and  drove  home  in  the  carriage  with 
Rhodes,  holding  the  dead  child  all  the  way 
close  pressed  against  her  heart. 

Only  once  did  the  woman  speak  to  him. 
It  was  when,  between  them,  they  had  got 
the  little  body  up  to  the  tiny  room,  which 
had  been  its  home  in  life,  and  had  laid  it 
upon  one  of  the  folding-beds,  which  had 
been  so  neatly  made  a  few  hours  back. 
Then  the  Tarara,  glancing  around  the  poor 
place,  so  purely  clean  and  orderly,  taking 
in  the  details  here  and  there  —  the  child's 
slate  and  lesson  books,  and  her  little  work- 
basket,  with  its  half-used  spools  of  thread 
and  small  brass  thimble — and  contrasting  it 
with  her  own  sumptuous  rooms  and  luxur- 


381 


The  Story  of  an  Old  Soul 

ious  living,  turned  her  gaze  upon  the  man 
who  stood  helpless  and  miserable  in  the 
midst  of  this  poverty-stricken  home,  and 
said  : 

"  I   would   have    married    you    for  this 
child.     You  should   have   let   me  know." 


382 


Once  More 


Once  More 

In  the  days  when  the  great  West  was 
still  the  wild  West,  many  a  strange  scene 
took  place  before  the  eye  of  the  gazer, 
who  had  the  advantage  of  two  points  of 
view,  and  who  could  get  the  whole  zest  of 
these  primitive  conditions,  oy  the  process 
of  contrasting  them  with  a  foregone  civili 
zation. 

Such  a  one  was  the  man,  who  had  once 
been  known  in  the  fashionable  circles  of 
an  eastern  city  as  William  Wilmerding, 
but  who  now,  in  the  mining-camp,  went 
by  the  more  convenient  name  of  Bill 
Will. 

He   had    been   a   tender-foot   when   he 

first  came  to  the  camp,  but  it  was  not  long 

before  he  hardened  to  the  necessary  state 

of  roughness  and  toughness,  to  make  him 

385 


Once  M.ore 

acceptable  to  his  companions  and  approved 
mining  standards,  and  at  last  he  became 
a  prime  favorite  with  the  spirited  and  des 
perate  fellows,  who  knew  but  the  savage 
and  seamy  side  of  life,  but  who  yet  had 
something  in  them  which  responded  to 
the  charm  of  education  and  refinement, 
when  properly  repudiated  and  concealed. 

For  Bill,  in  his  dress  and  in  his  daring 
deeds,  was  as  tough  and  wild  as  any  of 
them;  indeed,  there  was  a  spirit  of  des 
peration  in  the  man,  which  more  than 
once  had  roused  the  admiration  of  the 
camp,  in  times  of  danger,  and  which  had 
its  source  in  a  certain  feeling  in  William 
Wilmerding's  heart,  which  was  his  life 
secret — a  secret  which  he  had  come  to 
bury  in  this  strange  new  existence.  No 
thing  but  despair  of  his  heart's  desire 
would  have  brought  and  kept  him  here. 

Every  camp  in  those  days  had  its  own 
pet  pursuit,  and  in  this  one  it  was  horse- 
racing.  Their  track  was  not  as  smooth 
as  civilization  would  have  made  it,  but  for 
386 


Once  More 

that  very  reason  better  horses  and  better 
riders  were  required.  Every  spring  and 
autumn  they  had  a  grand  race-day,  and  the 
purses  put  up  were  so  large,  and  the  private 
betting  was  so  reckless,  that  big  sums  of 
money  were  exchanged,  and  often  the  rich 
became  poor,  and  the  poor  rich.  These 
men  had  no  families  dependent  upon  them, 
and  when  once  their  blood  was  up,  they 
did  not  hesitate  to  risk  their  last  cent. 

On  the  occasion  of  one  of  the  spring 
races,  the  bustle  and  excitement  were  at 
their  very  height,  and  the  most  important 
race  of  the  day  was  about  to  be  run,  when 
there  drove  into  the  field  a  wagon,  in 
which  were  seated  two  such  strange  and 
alien-looking  figures,  that  even  the  exciting 
demands  of  the  present  moment  gave 
place,  for  a  little  while,  to  this  new  in 
fluence.  The  cart  was  driven  by  a  hale 
and  hearty  old  man,  who  looked  impress 
ively  proud  of  his  mission,  and  who  was 
lifted  so  far  above  mining  etiquette  as  to 
take  off  his  hat  to  the  assembled  horse 
387 


Once  More 

racers,  as  he  brought  his  cart  to  a  standstill. 
It  was  probably,  however,  reverence  for 
his  passengers  that  led  to  this  "  break." 

The  passengers  were  two  gray-clad, 
white-bonneted  sisters  of  charity,  who 
looked  about  them,  on  this  alien  scene, 
with  mild-eyed  wonder.  One  of  them  was 
stout,  middle-aged,  and  homely,  with  en 
ergy  and  resolution  written  on  every  line 
of  her  face.  The  other  was  small,  and 
young,  and  fair. 

As  the  cart  halted,  the  old  man  got  up 
and  announced  that  the  sisters  had  come 
up  from  the  mission,  two  hundred  miles 
away,  to  ask  for  contributions  toward  the 
building  of  an  orphanage,  of  which  there 
was  pressing  need. 

His  speech  was  listened  to  with  the 
politest  attention  by  the  crowd,  a  few 
men,  here  and  there,  being  so  far  affected 
as  to  take  off  their  hats  in  a  shame-faced 
sort  of  way, and  then  confusedly  to  put  them 
on  again.  The  two  sisters  said  nothing, 
but  their  mere  presence  there,  looking 
388 


Once  More 

about  them  with  placid  kindly  faces  that 
carried  a  message  of  pure  goodness  to 
every  heart,  so  impressed  the  camp  that, 
for  the  moment,  the  zest  about  tfie  coming 
race  seemed  in  danger  of  eclipse. 

This  peril  was  perceived  by  one  of  the 
crowd,  a  tough  and  wiry  little  old  man 
known  as  Jerry,  who  had  great  influence 
in  the  camp,  and  he  now  pushed  his  way 
to  the  front,  and  jumping  on  an  upturned 
box,  addressed  the  assemblage  in  lusty 
tones.  Jerry  was  not  altogether  temperate 
in  his  habits,  and  his  face  and  manner,  to 
day,  indicated  an  ardor  and  excitement  not 
wholly  to  be  attributed  to  the  coming 
great  race.  He  was  in  the  highest  good 
humor,  however,  and  his  face  fairly 
kindled,  as  he  said : 

"  Time  for  the  race,  boys  !  Clear  the 
track  !  Never  you  mind,  old  girl,"  to  the 
elder  of  the  sisters.  "  You  're  all  right. 
Pull  off  to  one  side  there,  driver,  and  let 
the  sisters  watch  the  race ;  and  if  Whirl 
wind  wins  it,  we  '11  give  the  old  girl  a 
389 


Once  More 

send-off  that  '11  make  her  heart  jump  out 
of  her  body." 

The  crowd  answered  with  a  cheer,  and 
the  current  of  interest  was  again  turned 
toward  the  race  track,  down  which  Whirl 
wind,  ridden  by  Bill  Will,  was  now  re 
turning  from  a  gentle  preliminary  canter. 
Bill  Will  had  been  at  the  other  side  of  the 
course  when  the  sisters  had  arrived,  and 
now,  as  he  rode  up  to  the  starting  point, 
his  eyes  rested  on  these  strange  figures  for 
the  first  time. 

As  they  did  so,  he  turned  deadly  white, 
and  his  body  swayed  in  the  light  saddle,  so 
that  he  almost  lost  his  balance  —  a  fact 
noticed,  perhaps,  by  but  one  being  in  all 
that  crowd,  for,  to  the  miners,  a  man 
amounted  to  little,  beside  a  horse,  on  this 
day,  and  they  were  all  gazing  eagerly  at 
Whirlwind  to  see  if  he  looked  in  condition. 

The  person  who  saw  only  the  man,  and 

who  had  no  consciousness  of  the  horse,  was 

the  younger  of  the  two  sisters.      Her  face 

had  turned  as  white  as  his,  and  now,  while 

390 


Once  More 

the  attention  of  all  the  rest  was  fixed  upon 
the  horse,  her  glance  met  that  of  the  rider, 
with  a  gaze  of  mutual  consciousness. 

She  saw  him  struggle  to  right  himself, 
and  to  regain  his  self  control,  and  she 
heard  him  say  faintly  that  his  throat  was 
dry.  A  dozen  flasks  were  hurriedly  jerked 
from  pockets,  and  held  out  to  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  water  !  "  and,  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  the  little  sister  turned 
from  white  to  burning  red. 

A  man  ran  quickly  and  brought  him 
some  water  in  a  tin  cup.  Before  he  took 
it,  he  removed  his  cap,  and  as  he  bent  to 
drink,  he  looked  again  into  the  little  sister's 
eyes,  as  if  he  pledged  her  thus,  in  silence. 

Then,  with  a  powerful  rallying  of  his 
forces,  he  drew  in  Whirlwind's  reins,  and 
settled  himself  in  his  saddle,  and  with  a 
low  bow  that  might  have  graced  a  knight 
at  a  tournament,  but  which  no  one  here 
noticed,  or  would  have  comprehended,  he 
took  his  place  with  the  other  horses  at  the 
starting-point. 


Once  More 

There  was  mad  riding  that  day.  The 
camp  had  hitherto  seen  nothing  like  it. 
The  men  from  neighboring  camps,  who 
had  entered  fine  horses  upon  which  they 
had  staked  all  their  earthly  possessions, 
had  gone  in  to  win,  and  were  resolved  that 
Whirlwind  should  not  have  this  race,  if 
grit  in  man  and  beast  could  prevent  it. 
Every  horse  was  strained  to  its  extremest 
powers,  and  every  rider  rode  with  a  con 
scious  risk  of  neck  and  limb,  but  if  the 
others  did  the  utmost  possible,  it  seemed 
as  though  Whirlwind  and  his  rider  did  the 
impossible. 

Every  eye  was  so  strained  upon  that 
break-neck  rush  around  the  course,  that  a 
spectator  was  very  sure  of  escaping  obser 
vation;  so  no  one  saw  the  little  sister's 
face.  Even  the  motherly  old  creature  at 
her  side  was  peering  eagerly  through  her 
steel-rimmed  spectacles,  not  in  any  absorp 
tion  in  the  race,  but  in  dire  anxiety  for 
the  life  and  limbs  of  those  reckless  men. 

One   man,  in   truth,  was   thrown   and 
392 


Once  More 

stunned,  one  noble  horse  out-strained  him 
self  and  broke  a  blood-vessel,  but  Whirl 
wind's  rider,  who  had  been  the  boldest 
there,  came  in  unscathed,  and  Whirlwind 
won  the  race. 

And  then  began  a  whooping  and  cheer 
ing  that  made  the  place  a  pandemonium, 
which  even  the  unwonted  feminine  pres 
ence  in  their  midst  could  not  keep  in 
abeyance.  Gold  and  silver,  flowing  like 
water,  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  making 
some  rich,  and  others  poor;  for  in  the  camp 
such  indebtednesses  were  settled  on  the 
instant,  and  no  man  shirked. 

When  accounts  were  apparently  squared, 
Jerry,  wild  with  enthusiasm,  sprang  up  in 
front  of  the  cart  in  which  the  sisters  sat, 
and  shouted  lustily: 

"  Our  horse  has  won  the  race  !  Hur 
rah  for  Whirlwind  and  Bill  Will !  " 

When  the  cheer  had  been  repeated  to 
the  echo,  Jerry,  taking  fresh  breath,  went 
on  : 

"  And  hurrah  for  the  sisters  and  the 
393 


Once  More 

orphans,  too,  I  say !  March  up  here, 
every  mother's  son  of  you,  and  ante  up 
half  your  winnin's  for  the  orphans  !  Here 
you  are,  old  girl,"  he  said,  throwing  a  big 
handful  of  gold  into  her  lap.  "  That 's  half 
of  my  pile,  and  if  ever  you  tackle  an 
orphan  o'  mine,  teach  it  to  bet  its  last 
dollar  on  the  winnin'  horse  !  Come  ahead, 
boys  !  Every  last  one  o'  you  throw  in 
half  your  pile,  and  the  devil  take  the  one 
that  refuses  ! " 

For  the  next  five  minutes,  the  gold  and 
silver  coins  fell  like  pouring  hailstones 
into  the  old  sister's  ample  lap,  and  while 
this  was  going  on,  Bill  Will,  with  quiet, 
stealthy  footsteps,  approached  the  cart 
from  the  other  side,  and  poured  his  con 
tribution  into  the  lap  of  the  younger  sister. 
Those  who  noticed  it  were  not  aware  that 
it  was  not  the  half,  but  the  whole  of  his 
winnings,  of  which  he  so  disposed.  Nor 
did  they  notice  that,  among  the  coins,  was 
a  little  woodland  flower,  which  he  had 
stooped  and  gathered. 
394 


Once  More 

This  small  and  worthless  offering  was 
not  wholly  overlooked,  however,  for  before 
she  turned  over  her  rich  tribute  of  gold  to 
her  companion,  the  little  sister  took  the 
flower  and  hid  it  in  the  folds  of  her  gray 
gown — an  action  that  was  clearly  seen 
by  one. 

Presently  the  old  man  stirred  up  his 
drowsy  horse,  and  the  cart  began  to  move. 
He  had  thanked  the  crowd  for  their  gen 
erous  charity,  in  the  name  of  the  sisters, 
whose  order  did  not  permit  them  such 
public  speech. 

The  men  stood  watching  the  departure 
of  the  cart  with  a  certain  wistfulness.  The 
sight  of  these  good  women  had  roused 
them  to  unwonted  musings.  But  of  the 
tragedy  taking  place  beneath  their  eyes, 
they  had  no  imagination  — for  in  that  mo 
ment,  a  man  and  a  woman  who  had  loved 
with  the  supreme  passion  of  their  hearts, 
and  who  had  been  separated  by  an  inexor 
able  fate,  had  looked  their  last  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

395 


PRINTED  AT  THE  LAKESIDE  PRESS,   CHICAGO 

FOR  HERBERT  S.   STONE  &,  CO. 

MDCCCXCVI 


October,  1896.  Established  May,  i8qb.  Number  i. 

Catalogue 

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Herbert  S.  Stone  &  Company 

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deeply  dangerous  while  so  intensely  interesting. " — THC  WORLD  (London). 

CHAP-BOOK  STORIES;  a  volume  of  Reprints 
from  the  Chap-Book,  by  OCTAVE  THANET,  GRACE 
ELLERY  CHANNING,  MARIA  LOUISE  POOL,  AND  OTHERS. 
i6mo.  $1.25. 

The  authors  of  this  volume  are  all  American.  Be 
side  the  well-known  names,  there  are  some  which  were 
seen  in  the  Chap-Book  for  the  first  time.  The  volume 
is  bound  in  an  entirely  new  and  startling  fashion. 

CHAP  -  BOOK  ESSAYS,  by  T.  W.  HIGGINSON, 
LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON,  H.  H.  BOYESEN,  H. 
W.  MABIE,  AND  OTHERS.  i6mo.  $1.25. 

Essay?,  by  the  most  distinguished  living  writers, 
which  it  has  been  judged  worth  preserving  in  more 
permanent  form  than  the  issues  of  the  Chap-Book 
could  give. 


ALBERT  KINROSS. 

THE  FEARSOME  ISLAND;  being  a  Modern 
rendering  of  the  narrative  of  one  Silas  Fordred,  Master 
Mariner  of  Hythe,  whose  shipwreck  and  subsequent 
adventures  are  herein  set  forth.  Also  an  appendix 
accounting  in  a  rational  manner  for  the  seeming  mar 
vels  that  Silas  Fordred  encountered  during  his  sojourn 
on  the  fearsome  island  of  Don  Diego  Rodriguez.  With 
a  cover  designed  by  Frank  Hazenplug.  i6mo.  $1.25. 

GABRIELS  o'ANNUNZIO. 

EPISCOPO  AND  COMPANY.  Translated  by 
Myrta  Leonora  Jones.  i6mo.  $1.25. 

Gabriele  d'Annunzio  is  the  best  known  and  most 
gifted  of  modern  Italian  novelists.  His  work  is  making 
a  great  sensation  at  present  in  all  literary  circles.  The 
translation  now  offered  gives  the  first  opportunity 
English-speaking  readers  have  had  to  know  him  in 
their  own  language. 

ARTHUR  MORRISON. 

A  CHILD  OF  THE  JAGO  ;  a  novel  of  the  East 
End  of  London,  by  the  author  of  "Tales  of  Mean 
Streets."  I  zmo.  $1.50. 

Mr.  Morrison  is  recognized  the  world  over  as  the 
most  capable  man  at  slum  life  stories.  His  "Tales  of 
Mean  Streets"  was  one  of  the  best  received  books  of 
1894-95,  and  the  present  volume  has  occupied  his  time 
ever  since.  It  is  of  great  force  and  continuous  interest ; 
a  book  that,  once  begun,  must  be  finished,  and  one  that 
will  figure  as  a  sensation  for  a  long  time  to  come. 


JULIA  MAGRUDER. 

MISS  AYR  OF  VIRGINIA  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.     i6mo.    Hi. 25. 

Critics  have  always  united  in  saying  of  Miss  Ma- 
gruder's  work  that  it  was  interesting.  In  addition  to 
this  her  new  volume  is  noticeable  for  its  grace  and 
beauty,  real  sentiment  where  it  is  needed,  and  strength 
as  well.  It  will  be  welcomed  by  the  many  who  en 
joyed  "The  Princess  Sonia"  and  "The  Violet." 

HENRY  M.   BLOSSOM,  JR. 

CHECKERS  ;  a  Hard -Luck  Story,  by  the  author  of 
"The   Documents  in   Evidence."      i6mo.      $1.25. 

Third  edition. 

"Abounds  in  the  most  racy  and  picturesque  slang." — N.  Y. 
RECORDER. 

"CHECKERS  is  an  interesting  and  entertaining  chap,  a  distinct  type, 
with  a  separate  tongue  and  a  way  of  saying  things  that  is  oddly  humor 
ous." — CHICAGO  RECORD. 

"If  I  had  to  ride  from  New  York  to  Chicago  on  a  slow  train,  I 
should  like  half  a  dozen  books  as  gladsome  as  CHECKERS,  and  I  could 
laugh  at  the  trip." — N.  Y.  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER. 

ALICE  MORSE  EARLE. 
CURIOUS  PUNISHMENTS  OF  BYGONE 

DAYS  ;  by  the  author  of  "Sabbath  in  Puritan  New 
England,"  etc.,  with  many  quaint  pictures  by  Frank 
Hazenplug.  izmo.  $1.50. 

Mrs.  Earle  dedicates  her  book,  in  the  language  of 
an  old-time  writer,  to  "All  curious  and  ingenious  gen 
tlemen  and  gentlewomen  who  can  gain  from  acts  of 
the  past  a  delight  in  the  present  days  of  virtue,  wisdom 
and  the  humanities." 


H.   C.  CHATFIELD- TAYLOR. 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  CASTANET;  Spanish 
Sketches,  by  the  author  of  "Two  Women  and  a  Fool," 
with  twenty-five  full-page  illustrations.  i6mo.  $1.25. 
A  collection  of  rambling  sketches  of  Spanish  people 
and  places.  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor  has  written  frankly 
and  entertainingly  of  the  most  striking  features  of  "The 
Land  of  the  Castanet."  The  volume  does  not  pretend 
to  be  exhaustive  ;  in  no  sense  is  it  a  guide  book — it  is 
intended  rather  for  the  person  who  does  not  expect 
to  visit  Spain  than  for  the  traveller. 

C.   E.   RAIMOND. 

THE  FATAL  GIFT  OF  BEAUTY  AND 
OTHER  STORIES,  by  the  author  of  "George 
Mandeville's  Husband,"  etc.  l6mo.  $1.25. 

A  book  of  stories  which  will  not  quickly  be  sur 
passed  for  real  humor,  skillful  characterization  and 
splendid  entertainment.  "The  Confessions  of  a  Cruel 
Mistress"  is  a  masterpiece  and  the  "  Portman  Mem- 
moirs  "  are  exceptionally  clever. 

GEORGE  ADE. 

ARTIE  ;  a  story  of  the  Streets  and  Town,  with  many 
pictures  by  John  T.  McCutcheon.  i6mo.  $1.25. 
These  sketches,  reprinted  from  the  CHICAGO  RECORD, 
attracted  great  attention  on  their  original  appearance. 
They  have  been  revised  and  rewritten  and  in  their 
present  form  promise  to  make  one  of  the  most  popular 
books  of  the  fall. 


LUCAS  MALET. 

THE  CARISSIMA  ;  a  novel,   by    the   author    of 
"The  Wages  of  Sin."     I  2mo.     $1.50. 

Few  people  will  have  difficulty  in  remembering  the 
profound  sensation  which  the  publication  of  "The 
Wages  of  Sin"  caused  some  six  years  ago.  Since  that 
time  Lucas  Malet  has  published  no  serious  work,  and 
the  present  volume  therefore,  represents  her  best.  It 
is  a  novel  of  intense  and  continued  interest,  and  will 
claim  a  prominent  place  among  the  books  of  the  season. 


ALSO 

THE  CHAP-BOOK. 

WHAT  IT  STANDS  FOR. 

"The  cleverness  of  this  periodical  has  always  amply  justified  its 
existence  but  the  careless  reader,  who  has  never  taken  it  seriously,  will 
be  surprised  to  find  on  turning  over  the  leaves  of  this  volume  how  very 
much  more  than  merely  clever  it  is.  It  contains  examples  of  some  of 
the  strongest  work  that  is  now  being  done  in  letters.  It  represents  the 
best  tendencies  of  the  younger  writers  of  the  day,  and,  seen  in  bulk, 
even  its  freaks  and  excentricities  are  shown  to  be  representative  of  their 
sort,  and  are  present  in  it  because  they  are  representative,  and  not 
because  they  are  freakish." — ST.  PAUL  GLOBE. 

Price,  10  Cents.      $2.00  A  Year. 

Published  by  HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO.,  Chicago. 


Herbert  S.  Stone  &  Company, 

THE   CHAP-BOOK. 

CHICAGO  :     The   Caxton   Building. 

LONDON  :    10,  Norfolk  St.,  Strand. 


TELEGRAPHIC   ADDRESSES: 

"  CnApBooK,    CHICAGO." 
"  EDITORSHIP,  LONDON." 


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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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N  2 1 1991 

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